Counting Bodies Like Sheep
by WeAreAllStoriesInTheEnd
Summary: Rewrite of Team Bartowski vs the Dead: It's the zombie apocalypse and Chuck & Co. are caught in the middle of the devestation! What happens when Chuck and Sarah's world is torn apart by a freak accident? CHARAH, post-season 3 AU.
1. Don't Fret Precious, I'm Here

**An: **Hey everyone. I haven't written much in awhile. To be frank, I just graduated from high school and moved straight from my home to a new state so things a pretty chaotic. I'm a stress case and the only cathartic means for releasing said built up tension is to write. Now with my bags and boxes somewhat opened, I had the chance to write and rewrite this little thing.

I know I originally wrote a story dubbed, Team Bartowski versus the Dead last year. I had stopped it due to writer's block and laziness. But since we're on hiatus, I decided to write a redux version of my fic. It's way way different, but still is a slight crossover with Left 4 Dead (1 & 2)

I have no clue when this will be updated, it'll mostly be based upon reviews and positive feedback I guess. I'm bored and lonely so who know? I may continue this

So you know the drill: R&R

* * *

_Chapter One—Better Safe Than Sorry_

**Date: _December 7_**_**th****, 2010**_

**Time: _9:15 PM_**

**Location: _Los Angeles International Church of Christ, California _**

**Note(s): _Secondary hot zone in the Los Angeles County. There are currently a 100:1 infected to survivor ratio. Use extreme caution and discretions when gathering supplies or rescuing civilians. A Safe House is located within the Church. It is encouraged to seek refuge by nightfall. _**

_**-It has been six months, seven days, nineteen hours and thirty-five seconds since the first wave of the Infection. The CEDA (Civil Emergency and Defense Agency) calls it the Green Flu. **_

"_Better safe than sorry, better safe than sorry…."_

Chuck leaned up against the wall, an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder. He was palming his face, growing increasingly irritated while the man behind the metal encased door resumed his incoherent ramblings. Chuck's free hand was snaked around the handle of the gun, fingers forever doomed to tremble at any sign of danger.

"_Better safe than sorry, better safe than sorry…b-better safe than sorry."_

"This guy is getting on my fucking nerves," Casey growled. He was taking cover from behind a rickety old piano. In a kneeling position, he glared venomously at the safe room's door. There was hatred in his icy blue eyes, wanting nothing more than to silence whoever was barricaded in the next room.

Sarah nodded in agreement. She was pressed up in the crook of where the walls joined in to a narrow corner. She was staring into her sniper rifle's scope, scanning outside of the church for infected humans. Seeing one limping by itself down in the patch of grass, she pulled the trigger. Its head exploded like a watermelon.

She cocked the gun back, releasing the empty casing out of the clip. She lowered the rifle slowly, turning her head to the side to meet Chuck and Casey's exhausted faces.

"He's not going to let us in, is he?" She asked. However she knew the answer and regretted asking at all.

Chuck ran a gloved hand through his newly shortened hair (it helped prevent further outbreak believe it or not, even to Sarah's chagrin) and shrugged. "Seriously doubtful. If what we've heard so far is any indication, this guy seriously is coo coo for Coco Puffs."

A twitch of a smile made its way to the corner of Sarah's lips while Casey only groaned at the younger man's attempt at humor. There was no time for jokes. It _was_ a high stress situation after all. A long pause overwhelmed the lighter atmosphere; Chuck and Sarah both forced their smiles away.

A few seconds later and, "Maybe we should try talking to him?"

Casey snorted. He stole a disbelieving look to the only female of the group. "We already tried that, remember? You know how well that went."

Sarah shrugged her shoulders in a resigned fashion. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the rifle still grasped firmly in her hands. She averted her gaze; Chuck observed this in stark silence. He snuck closer towards the iron clad door and traded glances with Sarah and Casey. Chuck encouraged them with a hopeful grin. "Well, where's the harm in trying again?"

Sarah was surprised but nevertheless sent him an earnest look. Chuck could see the appreciation glitter in her sapphire gaze. There was a quick flash of a smile (Chuck almost missed it) and then it was gone. Casey saw the nonverbal exchange and rolled his eyes.

He muttered under his breath, "Oh for God's sake…" The two lovers simply ignored him and went through with the plan. Chuck steeled himself. His knuckles rasped against the door. Then the three spies-turned-survivors waited in unsure silence. No one knew really what to expect this time around.

"_Who's there? Are you human?"_ was the frantic response. _"If you're infected, I'm not letting you in!"_

"Here we go again," Casey muttered quietly. It was too good to be true. Sarah shot a steely glare his way. He shrugged.

Swallowing the thick bile in his throat, Chuck straightened upright. He answered boldly, "Please can you let us in? We're all immune, you can trust us."

The man responded shrilly, _"How can I trust you? With your expensive weapons and your fancy __**blood**__?"_

Chuck hung his head and shook it in disbelief. He massaged the bridge of his nose and spoke in a calm but convincing voice: "Listen, we are all federal agents. We work for the government and we're here to rescue survivors."

"_Feds?"_ the man whispered.

"Yeah, so how about you let us in, jerk-ass?" Casey barked angrily.

Both Chuck and Sarah shot daggers at the tired and dispassionate Colonel. Their glares practically screamed: _Shut up! Do you _want _to die?_

All the while, the man had been repeating: _"The Feds…."_ He mused stupidly, _"You don't sound like federal agents!"_

Chuck tore his eyes from Casey and refocused back to the barred door. He pleaded, "We are, and we're here to help you." His voice became exasperated. "Let us help you, all right?"

The man did not respond immediately. Chuck pressed his palm on the cold steel door and exhaled noisily. Sarah lingered by his side and remained quiet. She frankly hated the silence. She could hear the faint cries from outside the walls of the church. They sounded vulgar to the senses; the cacophony caused shivers to trail up her spine. Hairs stood up on end_. Oh god, please make it stop._

The screeching of the infected ceased momentarily. They were drowned out by the hysterical yammering of a crazed man. "_You're a liar!"_ he accused, _"Your words mean shit to me!"_

Casey looked around like he had enough. His nostrils flared as his brows narrowed into slits. He climbed to his feet (almost bulldozing the piano to dust) and made a beeline straight for the door. He took the brunt end up the gun and banged it against the hard surface. It caused a loud, thumping noise. Chuck's eyes widened and he reached a hand and grabbed a hold of Casey's Kevlar vest. He yanked with all his might and managed to pull the bigger man away. Chuck then smacked him on the shoulder and shot him a warning look.

The undead resumed their groaning. Sarah covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. "Stop, stop, stop…" she mumbled to herself. No one heard her desperation. Oh why did she have to be at her weakest when it mattered most? She was being stupid, so, stupid.

A few feet next to her, Chuck was still concentrating hard on Casey. He said lowly, "You do that and he'll snap."

Casey raised an eyebrow.

"Or he'll switch from a crazy harmless guy to a dangerous psycho killer."

The Colonel mentioned offhandedly, "The way I see it, no matter what we do, _something's _gonna set him off. It might as well be us. Let's scare him to death and force our way in."

"That's never going to work," whispered Chuck harshly. He looked from the barred door to Casey, who was clutching his gun so tight his knuckles were bleeding white.

_And so the oh so lovable angry-center has returned, _Chuck pondered drily. He knew how Casey's temper had been failing him (and the team) frequently as of late. It was because his old fiancée, Kathleen McHugh had perished during the first wave of the Infection not too long ago. With her dead, it left his estranged adult daughter Alex under his protection. _But she'll be safe…Morgan has been keeping her company back at the compound. If only Casey could understand that—_

There was a delayed crack of thunder. Sarah had mustered her resolve (tears however were pooling in her irises) and fired the sniper rifle. The single bullet hit its target with deadly accuracy. The infected thing that was wobbling towards the church gurgled once and then blew up in a mass of red blood and mutilated flesh. She removed her eye from the scope and stole a cold glance over her shoulder. She was unwittingly shaking.

"Casey, please just get it done. Even if that means blowing that door open with a pipe bomb. Do anything necessary."

Chuck sighed. He recognized the tinge of impatience and sorrow reverberating in Sarah's tone. However, he paid no heed to the sounds of muffled sniffling coming from a premature breakdown. It only seemed to him that he was being singled-out as the levelheaded one.

He thought sadly: _It's a pretty fucked-up world when I'm the only one thinking logically around here….apocalypse or not. _

He swept a hand across his face; felt grim infest the pores of his skin and shuddered. There was something very wrong with this. He _wasn't _supposed to be the reasonable one. He was supposed to freak out. For over three years he had been the one who couldn't keep a tight lid on his emotions. But it wasn't the same. Hell, it'd never be the same.

Chuck no longer felt the fear.

After everything that had happened—_Shaw's betrayal, the Intersect's malfunctioning, his dad's murder_…he felt dangerously numbed by it all.

_It must be some god-awful form of systematic desensitization. No wonder why this virus isn't affecting me properly. I've gone through too much for it to hurt me. _He thought wirily, _Plus, I've played too many zombie videogames to count. This is probably a piece of cake for my deranged psyche. _

There was another silver lining that Chuck almost had forgotten to account for. He stared at the back of Sarah's head; her blonde hair tied in a messy ponytail. His eyes softened and his heart panged in his chest.

He was still human. He could love, and he loved Sarah, his sister Ellie (and the little one growing in her belly), all of his friends that have lived and died since the Infection began. He thanked that higher power for not completely abandoning him. But there was still a piece of him, probably innocence that had been lost because of the global disaster. And how could he not have lost it? Everyone had been tainted by the outbreak. Chuck had seen some horrible things in the last six months: there were pillaged cities that had been a fiery hot zone only to turn into ghost towns. People Chuck knew had been taken from him, either sick with the _Green Flu _(He remembered his late brother-in-law's voice echoing in his brain. Saying that, "It's no flu…") or they had simply been left for dead…

Chuck brushed a hand over his father's last invention—the Governor, which was strapped to his wrist. He was unfazed when Casey grinned devilishly and pulled out a pipe bomb from this belt pouch. It was just more senseless destruction in an already desolate world. What more harm could a little explosive do? There was nothing wrong with a Boom!

Was there?

His brain fought and waded through this difficult quandary that at some point was not even that hard of a decision. Chuck's wits returned with a vengeance and he blinked out of the daze. He lunged forward and ripped the cylinder from Casey's large hand and then shook it at him.

His voice was high and distressed. He yelped, "Do want to get us killed?"

Sarah's ears perked up. She twisted her body around to face the quarrelling men. The rifle was placed between her legs and both arms were hugging the long barrel like she was seeking comfort— warmth from it. A tear slipped from an eye and made a trail down her ashen complexion.

Chuck continued to yell in spite of himself. He was too angry to keep it under control. "You think that guy is insane? Look at you, Casey! Can you keep it together for one second? You have a daughter back at camp, I'd think you would want to actually be _alive_ the next time you see her. Not in a body bag blown to kingdom come…" he panted.

The younger man's remark had Casey flinch. It was slight, but noticeable. He covered it up by snorting, "It's the apocalypse, Bartowski. The world has gone FUBAR and I doubt whether I'm alive or not makes even just a little significance."

_FUBAR: _Chuck did not need the Intersect's help to know what it meant. _Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, _he mouthed it and looked away from the Colonel He needed a moment. Just one moment to breath, to catch a break. Tempers were flaring and it was hindering their chances of surviving the mission. But he was so god damn tired…

"_Ding dong!"_

"What now?" Sarah moaned. Chuck finally became aware of her weak attempts at concealing her tears. He felt a twisting sensation in his chest. His heart was aching. Somehow he felt like this was his entire fault.

The church man's voice had returned. He didn't sound too happy. Or stable for that matter. "_I-I'm gonna ring this bell. I'm going to ring the bell_, _and,"_ his breath quickened then choked back laughter, _"they'll finish the job!"_

No one really could understand what he was saying. Chuck was too engrossed with Sarah's sudden breakdown to remotely care. He just stared at her, at loss. He bent down to his knees and became level with her terrified gaze. Chuck then pushed her rifle to the side and collected her into his arms. Everything paused and the zombie apocalypse would have to wait.

"Shush, Sarah it's gonna be okay." He whispered softly. Her head disappeared into the crook of his neck and he began to pet her hair gently. He felt her shake when another sob wrecked through her body. Chuck kissed the top of her head, "Everything will be fine, trust me."

The back of his mind told him not to lie. It tugged on his conscious and forced him to remember that no one, especially Sarah, liked a liar. Chuck waved off the feeling from engulfing him whole. He did not need to be reminded of his shortcomings. He would deal with them later.

Chuck lifted his head to Casey. The NSA agent was staring at the two younger members with perplexed eyes. He had obviously never seen Walker lose it like this. But who could've known that zombies were the CIA blonde's worst fear? Who could've honestly guessed that she could not sit through five minutes of _Shaun of the Dead, _let alone actually _live _through a real zombie apocalypse? Casey sure couldn't. He was unsettled by this and completely disregarded the obscenities shouted by the man locked in the bunker.

He did, however, hear Bartowski mutter: "Please be strong for me, and Casey—all of us Sarah. I know this is your worst nightmare, and I know you're afraid. I—I just need you to please, _please_—"Chuck never got a chance to finish.

The church bell began to ring.

Chuck jolted. The trembling in his hands returned. They shook violently but soon quelled under the soothing touch of Sarah's fingers. He looked to see that she was rubbing his palms in circular motions; sheen of wetness glazing her eyes. But there was a smile forming at the edges of her lips. It spread a warm feeling inside his chest and he thought that maybe he got through to her.

He got his Sarah back.

"Hey you two!" Casey's voice startled Chuck back to the present. "I'm glad you got the chance to have a nice moment, but we got a big damn problem." He gripped the machine tighter to his chest, but his gaze was fixed to what lay beyond the window, in the field of graves.

Chuck met Sarah. She held a countenance brimming with determination. She asked. "Ready, Chuck?"

He used the underside of his thumb to brush away the tears from falling from her eyes. Their foreheads were barely touching and his fingers trailed down her cheek and then rested there. He smiled. It was soulful, heartfelt. She returned it.

"I was born ready," he replied.

Liar…

Sarah nodded and then made a quick grab for her gun. She took it and leapt to her feet, and the vulnerability was gone. With new confidence and resolve, she crept back to the wall and aimed the rifle.

How long this over-zealous version of Sarah would last, Chuck had no clue. He could only hope she could keep the façade in check until they were back at camp, safe and alive. Then they could breakdown together.

"_Ding dong, ding dong! Dinner's served, come and get it!"_

There was a dissonance of groans, screeches and growls echoing in the barren town. Sarah saw a small band of ailing humans clambering to the source of the noise; she squeezed the trigger multiple times and in quick succession, emptied her entire clip. She ended up taking out all seven of the hostiles. They had fallen like a line of dominoes, one by one.

"I can't wait to get my hands on this guy," she growled as she took the time to reload her weapon. Slamming the new cartridge in the appropriate place, she cocked it and then mumbled, "He's really beginning to piss me off."

Chuck raised his gun and took cover on the other end of the window. He heard the remark and his lips curved into a small smirk. It looked like Sarah was really back to herself and then some.

"_I got the bell, you stay the hell out!" _

A plethora of infected, zombie-like creatures were tumbling into view. It was then when Chuck's anxiety began to swell in his chest and that numb feeling he was getting so used to, receded like a wave. Now his breathing became fast and uneven and the urge to freak out was imminent.

_Don't freak out…don't freak out….dammit, please don't freak out!_

He hated hordes.

Sarah luckily however, had reverted back into the highly trained (not the mention deadly) operative Chuck had both feared and admired since he met her those years ago. Stoic and composed, her rifle was level and she resumed picking off the infected like a master marksman. It sent chills up his spine and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

"_This is my safe house!"_ the man was now roaring above the diseased humans.

Chuck took his eyes from Sarah and then let them slide closed. He squeezed them shut in attempt to rationalize what was happening around him. He was so fed up with the crazy guy. A part of him seriously just wanted to let Casey have his way and put the man out of his misery. He opened his eyes and looked to the Colonel himself, who was now by the window as well, clearly ready to tear someone's head off.

"He says one more word, and I'll stuff that bell up his ass!" Casey snarled vehemently.

"_Better safe than sorry, better safe than sorry."_

Casey's eye twitched. He put both hands in the air as a sign of surrender, letting his gun hang from the strap on his shoulder.

"I'm done. Give me back the pipe bomb, Bartowski."

_He lasted longer than expected, _Chuck thought. He fisted a hand in his bag where he had stashed the bomb. Somehow he knew he was going to regret this.

"I know I'm going to regret this," he vocalized and his shoulders slumped in some semblance of defeat. Casey eyed the bomb carefully, like a predator to its prey. Chuck sighed and added, "Just make sure not to get us blown up please."

Casey offered a curt nod. Chuck relinquished the explosive and the bigger man took it, grinned deviously, and then chucked it out of the broken window. Sarah dropped her rifle (the expression worn on her face nonplussed) and watched as a score of infected ran to the cylinder. It blinked red for a few long, agonizing seconds, beeping wildly. Then there was a monstrous blast which obliterated them into a heavy red mist.

Chuck blinked. The graveyard outside the church walls was now covered in blood, guts and other assorted appendages. He surveyed the gore for a moment longer, and his stomach churned. He faced a satisfied Casey. "Feel better now?"

"_You said you were immune. You said you were immune! I-I trusted you! And you said you were-"_ the man howled.

"Great. Now he's even more hysterical than before." Chuck grimaced.

"_Won't fool me twice," _he cried_. "I let him in and he said he was immune! He bit me, but said he was immune"_

Chuck's jaw went slack. His brows furrowed as he listened intently. The man continued to ramble and Chuck finally understood. His eyes grew large and he glanced around the trashed hall: Was he the only one who just heard that?

Sarah was back to shooting once the red mist cleared. Casey had taken Chuck's old spot, mowing down anything that moved. Chuck stood there, frozen. He could hear the faint strangled growls and groans from within the safe room. _Oh shit that's not good._

"_It's been an hour? It must've been an hour? I must be immune!"_ The man's voice had become babble now. No one was paying attention, except for Chuck, _"That's r-right! I'm immune! I must be immune!"_

Chuck kept his gun firmly by his side, but slowly back from the window. He would let them take care of the mess outside. He had more important things to attend to. Straying towards the opposite end of the grand hall, he saw a glass incased Bible resting on a pew. Written hundreds of times were the phrase, _"Better safe than sorry."_ It was in big red letters and repeated all over the pages. Chuck's blood ran cold as he read the insane jargon.

"Holy…shit," he said with a shortness of breath.

The gunfire ceased briefly. Sarah withdrew her sniper rifle (must've been out of ammo) and pulled out dual handguns. She fired a few more times, maybe just to keep the rest of the infected at bay, and then exchanged a quick nonverbal look with Casey. He nodded and she traipsed off next to Chuck. He was mesmerized by the bloody scripture; he pointed a finger to the single phrase. Sarah darted her eyes to it and her forehead creased into a deeply troubled expression.

She looked at the Bible for a second or so but her eyes drifted to Chuck. His large doe eyes were flickering side-to-side, reading the phrase again and again. Her mouth twisted into a concerned expression and she reached for his shirt, tugging on it so that he'd move away. He was reluctant to budge but eventually came to his senses. He spun around and met Sarah with a look she had trouble analyzing.

"What's wrong?" She asked him. It was a strange thing to say. There were hundreds of things wrong—with Chuck, with the situation, with just about everything. Why she asked this she didn't really know. It was pretty self-explanatory. She saw the bloody scripture. Her brain was going to be forever embedded with that stupid foreboding phrase—_Better safe than sorry_. What a stupid thing to write. Who would think to write do such a thing...?

"We need to get out of here," Chuck said in an oddly calm tone. His brown eyes were dark as they looked around, examining all that surrounded him. He did not convey it, but Sarah could see the fear materialize in his rich irises. It was there and it refused to leave.

She tried to be reassuring. Maybe she could trick the both of them into thinking things will get better. "We will. Once we get in the safe room, we'll sleep for the night and then find the next rendezvous point."

He shook his head, "No...There's something not right here." Chuck tilted his head and became fixed on the barred door. "There's nothing holy and safe about this church. There's something terrible in that room over there. I swear I heard…noises."

"We'll have Casey kill it then," Sarah said lightly. "I'm sure he'd want nothing more than to…"

"I just have a really bad feeling about this." Chuck interrupted suddenly.

"You _always _say that, Chuck."

At first he looked indignant but then his eyes waned and came off as haunted and afraid. He bowed his head into a feeble nod and he said dismissively. "You're right…"

Sarah intertwined her fingers with Chuck's and squeezed. His lips were pressed into a thin line and he was staring at her, still with that fearful expression. She knew now that it was her turn to comfort him. He had been so strong for these past months. Dealing first with the death of his father, followed by the outbreak which claimed Ellie's husband, Devon's life. Chuck wouldn't allow himself to break under the pressure, even when the others would, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Sarah respected that. She respected it so much because she couldn't hold it together. She was a spy, sure, but nothing could've prepared her for _this._

"Of course I'm right," she joked. "And you'll see how right I am when we get back to base and you'll get to finally become an uncle."

A lopsided smile appeared on his worn features. It was hard to believe that he was going to be an uncle. "I'm going to be Uncle Chuck," he chuckled. He let his gun hang from its strap and he took Sarah's other hand. "And you're going to be Auntie Sarah."

"That's right," she reminded him. "And it's all going to happen once we get out of here."

Chuck nodded in agreement. He leaned forward, tilting his head slightly so that he could capture her lips in a slow tantalizing kiss. Sarah breathed him in and returned the kiss with vigor. They both knew that this was a mistake. They weren't supposed to compromise themselves during a rescue operation. But they needed this.

They needed human contact.

If for only a second it would do.

"_Ding dong, ding dong!" _

The bell tolled for a second time. Chuck parted from Sarah and they released each other's hands, letting them drop limply by their sides. Chuck's eyes narrowed when the second round of infected beings came sprinting towards the church. Sarah noticed his eyes taking on a glazed look, the side-effect of a flash. Once it ended, he blinked furiously. Without another word, he was up in arms and darted for the window. Sarah was not far behind.

"Here comes the horde," Casey bellowed above the constant shrieking.

Sarah clicked the safeties of her dual handguns off and once they were in view, she unloaded both rounds on the incoming infected. Casey stayed low, knocking down the front line of the common infected with ease. Chuck, who was not a fan of killing anything, was under the strong influence of the Intersect. He was stuck in tunnel-vision: fighting off the lethal, diseased beings. He dug into his bag and found a maltov. He quickly used a lighter (one he found off some poor man's body a few miles back) and lit the alcohol-drenched rag. He tossed it out of the window and the grass was lit aflame. It created a wall of fire, stopping the horde in their tracks; the stupider ones tried to run through it but ended up being engulfed in a ball of flames.

Chuck felt the heat of the fire radiate off his skin. Its bright glow facilitated the survivors' ability to see what they were aiming at. He lowered his gun and asked from the corner of his mouth, "There hasn't been many Hunters out there, has there?"

Sarah shook her head and reloaded her guns. "They're probably waiting in the forest for us. Y'know they like to stay inconspicuous."

"Smart bastards," growled Casey.

As if on cue, a loud terrifying shriek cut through the air. None of survivors moved; they collectively lowered their guns and stayed silent. Chuck looked to Sarah and Casey, expecting for them to distinguish the Hunter's location.

"It wants us to come outside," said Sarah. She appeared visibly shaken. If there was anything in this world that frightened her (save for zombies in general) it was these creatures: the Hunter.

Casey added, "I think it's on top of the church roof. If one of us takes the bait, it's perched up there, ready to pounce."

"How do we draw it out?" Chuck asked. The flash was beginning to fade from his brain. He felt the adrenaline dwindle away and he said tiredly. "Personally, I don't want one of us getting our insides torn apart. So let's think of something fast."

"Don't have that planned out yet," the NSA agent grunted. "You think of something, Intersect."

There was a loud banging on the metal clad door. Chuck whipped his head around and saw the door being dented from the inside. Claw marks indicated that the man behind the door was no longer human. The anxious feeling was coming back again, and it was a lot stronger than before. Just thinking about what lay beyond the door had him nauseous. He chewed on his lower lip in contemplation. He really, really, did _not_ want to go in there.

But he didn't see any other options. So, like Casey had told him at least a hundred times: suck it up.

"The safe room," Chuck posed halfheartedly. He left the window and was briefly exposed to any attack. "Let's just get inside and wait it out."

Sarah was surprised that he'd suggest it. Chuck was the one who minutes ago rather die fighting than stay in there. She frowned and reminded him, "That's not an option. That idiot in there won't let us in."

Chuck ignored her. He instead walked up to the door. His fingers skimmed down the metal latch keeping it locked shut. The only way to open it was from the inside or the keypad. He was irritated that something so inconvenient was prohibiting their entrance. What if some random survivors elsewhere wanted somewhere to hide? How could they possibly get inside with a damn lock?

He clasped his hands together and examined the keypad. His sights focused on the ten digits, he forewarned Sarah and Casey. "Get ready to kill whatever is on the other side of that door." He cracked his fingers and smiled, "I'm going to break the code on the keypad and get us inside."

Casey looked at Sarah confusedly, then to Chuck. "Are you saying crazy guy is infected?"

"Yes."

Casey cocked his gun and smiled, "Thank God."

Sarah shook her head, dismissing Casey's jovial attitude. "Go ahead, Chuck."

He placed a hand on the keypad, concentrating on the numbers. He strained his eyes, digging around in the Intersect's files until his vision blurred and he flashed. A stream of coded numerals showed up in his line of sight and then quickly vanished.

Memorizing it, Chuck punched in the code verbatim. He quickly took a handgun he kept in his waistband and used the grip to smash the keypad until it was destroyed. He knew that two pairs of blue eyes were staring at him in shock. They didn't understand his rationale for breaking the keypad. Maybe he'll explain later.

If there was a later.

Chuck looked over his shoulder, "Ready?"

The two recovered at once. They both nodded curtly. He gave the thumbs up and hit enter. The door clicked and buzzed for the correct password. The metal shaft unhinged, leaving the door semi ajar.

Chuck cautiously approached the door, using a foot to edge it open. It was heavy, but with a good kick, it flung open. He, Sarah, and Casey all drew their weapons and entered the safe room.

Looking all around them, the survivors scanned the room for the missing church man. Chuck flicked his flashlight on, its light shining on a lifeless corpse at the opposite end of the room. Blood was pooled around it, Chuck blanched. He hated blood.

"Where the hell did he go?" Sarah questioned nervously. By the sound of her voice Chuck assumed that what they were looking for was hidden in the shadows, ready to attack. He gulped. He hated Hunters as much as she did.

"At least we know now he's not a Tank," Casey quipped humorlessly.

Chuck frowned, "There's just one body. It's probably the one that had bit him originally." He eyed the grey mottled skin and its dead yellow eyes, "It was definitely infected when it died."

He took a step closer to the infected man. He crouched low to the ground and aimed the flashlight to inspect further. Upon his examination, Chuck figured that it had been shot in the chest multiple times, along with a headshot that only skimmed its forehead, tearing the scalp off halfway.

Chuck sighed, taking a whiff of the corpse by accident. He held his nose, gagging. His eyes watered, its odor foul to the senses. He heard a faint chuckle behind him. He got to one knee and glared at Casey.

"Don't throw up on the M4 Carbine, Bartowski. It's still property of the US military."

Chuck covered up his mouth with both hands, letting out a muffled sarcastic laugh.

Casey grunted dismissively, leaving for the plastic table which had loads of weapons stacked upon it.

The nausea left Chuck once Sarah came up to him, offering him a hand. Her beautiful smile charmed his sickness away. He grinned and took her generous offer; she began to pull him up, but was interrupted by a loud piercing scream. Her hand slipped from his and Chuck slammed on the ground, his head splashing in the sticky red fluid.

"Gross! Blood, god, I _hate _blood!" Chuck whined.

Both Sarah and Casey drew their weapons in unison; their flashlights on as well. The room became completely illuminated, revealing everything to the naked eye. Still on his back, Chuck looked straight up, his eyes fixating on the metal staircase. A dark figure sat crouched in the shadows.

Chuck's eyes widened into saucers and he scrambled up to his feet. In his haste, he slipped in the bloody mess and fell back down. He went for his gun as fast as he could, but was stopped when the being pounced on top of him.

The Hunter had Chuck pinned down, and he was unable to twist out of its hold. Its empty holes which used to have eyes had him paralyzed. He found no strength to move and his thrashing ceased momentarily. It was enough time for the beast to sink its teeth into his neck. Chuck reacted at once. He arched his back and screamed at the top of his lungs. When its claws were unsheathed and about to dig into his chest, shots were fired and the Hunter went flying off his stomach and crashed into the wall.

Chuck's head rested on the bloody floor. It was now it was a mix of the infected and his own. He groaned, tears welling up in his eyes as he tried to not cry. His chest heaved up and down, adrenaline flowing through him like fire. Chuck could feel the wound on his neck throb and ache; blood was gushing out.

He could barely make out what Sarah and Casey were saying. Vision blurred into crimson red and he felt weak and faint.

"Casey, grab the First-Aid!" Sarah yelled urgently.

She slid to her knees, splashing into the pool of blood. She ran her hands down Chuck's pale face, and down to see if he was injured anywhere else. Her eyes remained on the puncture wound on his neck.

Her head snapped around, "Casey, what's taking you so long? Hurry up!" Sarah's voice was strained and desperate. She was already forcing herself to stay composed.

_This cannot be happening_, she moaned in her head. _God, why didn't I listen to him? I _told _him that everything was going to be ok! Chuck, no, he doesn't not deserve this….he needs to live. Please, live. He's going to be an uncle…he can't die._

Casey handed her the white box. She popped the top open and spilled out all the medical supplies. She set aside the bandages for later, but grabbed the bottle of disinfectant spray.

"How's he doing?" Casey asked in a hushed whisper. There were several life-and-death situations that invoked concern from John Casey. He tried most of the time to hide it because it was a sign of weakness. But this was Chuck. He was a friend now, a comrade. Actually he was much more than that. And since they shared this bond (Semper Fi) it was becoming a chore of Casey to stay his usually robust self.

_If you die, Bartowski….I swear_, Casey mentally warned the younger man.

Sarah's reply was overwrought with raw emotion. "H-he was bit. It's not life threatening…but—"

"Why would he get bit?" Casey fretted, "He's immune isn't he? Infected only bite the non-immune."

Sarah couldn't understand. Casey was right. Chuck _was _immune to the Green Flu. They all were. That's why they were still human. He couldn't be infected…that's just impossible. It's outrageous. It was one of her greatest fears.

She tried not to think about it: _What could be worse than death? Infection? Becoming a carnivorous zombie that would rather kill and dismember the ones he loves? Oh, Chuck…_

Her voice cracked as it was meant to stay professional. "John, can you please hold Chuck down? I need to sterilize the wound."

Casey sat beside her, nodding sagely. He grabbed Chuck's restless form by the arms, wedging one knee between his legs. Chuck struggled to move as he was in too much pain to sit still.

"Chuck, I'm trying to treat you ok?" Sarah told him calmly. "I'm going to spray you with disinfectant…it's going to hurt, but please bear with me."

Casey exchanged an anxious look with Sarah. He bowed his head, ready for her to act.

"Nod if you understand me, Chuck," she said after a pause.

Chuck's nose flared and he gasped for breath. He nodded rapidly, shaking in tandem.

"S-Sarah, just fucking do it already!" he wailed. "I'm kind of in a lot of pain here…."

"Do it Walker," Casey agreed.

She sighed and sprayed the bottle of disinfectant into the site of the wound. At first, the transparent fluid did nothing. Chuck was still in pain, but no more than he was before. Sarah sat the bottle down and looked through the First-Aid, searching for something to help ease his pain.

"There they are." She grabbed the bottle of pain reliever pills.

She closed the box and set it down. Unscrewing the bottle of pills, she read the instructions and emptied out four of the tablets. Getting up to her feet, Sarah went to the mini refrigerator and looked for something Chuck could drink.

"Oh, fuck!" Chuck screamed suddenly. "Oh fuck—fuck—fuck!" He thrashed back and forth, withering in pain. "My neck, shit, it hurts dammit—it fucking hurts!"

Casey was diligent and kept the younger man down. He eyed Sarah with a grim expression. She came back from the front of the safe room, pills and water in hand. She fell back to the floor, horrified at Chuck's condition.

"The wound is flaring up pretty badly," Casey informed her. "The disinfectant must be working."

_At least something is going right, _she thought.

Sarah placed the water bottle on the floor along with the four tablets. She ran a hand through Chuck's damp hair, resting her palm on his forehead. Since it was an infection, he was extremely feverish. Which was a good sign considering the actual virus made the host cold as ice.

Chuck moaned at her touch. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled when he looked into her worried gaze. "Thank you, Dr. Walker."

Casey grunted. "The kid's delusional."

Sarah managed to smile a little. She opened the water bottle, pouring some of the cool liquid into Chuck's parted mouth. He stopped resisting the pain and let it work its way out of his system. Sarah held out the pills in the palm of her hand. Chuck looked at them with relief; he took the pills and popped them in his mouth.

Swallowing with difficulty, Chuck coughed. Sarah gave him the remaining water. He guzzled it down, no longer complaining about the pain.

"Those were fast acting," Casey interjected with a half smile.

Without a response, Sarah reached for the medical tape, some wipes and a pair of scissors and started to dress Chuck's wound. He remained compliant; Casey let go of his hold on him and went to go get the three of them some food.

By the time Sarah had finished, Chuck's neck was covered with a large band-aid and then expertly wrapped with medical tape. She wiped her hands off on her already blood crusted pants. The pain pills given to Chuck had finally taken effect, rendering him fast asleep.

"Be okay, Chuck." She whispered under her breath. She watched him snore softly in his sleep. It was a routine act she usually took part in. Every night she'd sit in bed with him, just watching as he'd slip into unconsciousness. This was before the infection began. It was back when everything was relatively normal.

Back then, it was just an ordinary world.

Sarah found herself wanting that life back more and more each passing second. When she could no longer stand to look at Chuck's prone form, she rolled up to her feet and sauntered towards the tables. She sat down in a chair, not saying a word. She cupped her face in her hands, exhausted beyond anything she felt in her entire life.

"You really need to eat something," Casey broke the silence. He took a huge bite out of a healthy looking green apple. He chewed and then offered her one. Sarah dropped her hands to the tabletop, her blue eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying.

"I'm not hungry," she muttered.

"Hungry or not, you still need something in your stomach. You won't survive much longer if you don't."

Her eyes flashed, sending the large man a condemning look.

"Chuck is not going to be around much longer, so why should you care if I eat or not?" She bit back at him.

"Bartowski looks fine to me." Casey's eyes landed on Chuck's sleeping form.

"He was bit…he's going to get sick" replied Sarah sourly. She buried her head on the table to smother a sob. "And I couldn't prevent it from happening!"

"We fucked up," Casey corrected her.

"What?"

He took another bite from his apple, "Don't blame yourself, Walker, I mean Sarah. It's not your fault that he was attacked. I'm just as guilty as you are…maybe even more."

Combing her fingers through her tangled up hair, Sarah hiccupped. "We are Chuck's partners. We are a team and for the past three years, not a single person has been able to hurt us. We've slipped up once, let our guards down, and now he's going to have a worse fate than death."

Casey twirled the apple core around and then tossed it into the trash can. He wiped his mouth, too emotional to respond back. He grunted.

"Let's say he does get infected," he said softly. "What do we do with him?"

"We put him down," Sarah whispered. It was difficult to even think of such a scenario."What other choice do we have?"

"If we're quick enough, we can get Chuck to the military compound," he mused. "The scientists and doctors there could run tests on him, keep him safe and most importantly… alive. Maybe we can even find a cure because of him. The Blood Cure isn't looking to be a keeper so far, so maybe Bartowski's the key. He'll be the first to get the vaccination too."

Sarah was caught staring at Chuck. She was only partly listening to what Casey was saying. It was impossible to imagine what will become of Chuck in a short amount of time. She did not want to admit it but he'd be a monster.

_He'll be a monster yes, but he's still Chuck._ A disembodied voice said, _He's your Chuck and always will be. Whatever happens to him you better suck it up and deal with the consequences. He would sure as hell do the same for you._

Sarah knew Chuck would do all he could to make sure she would survive the infection. So she had to be strong, for him. But she felt tears brimming in her eyes and they threatened to fall. She tore her gaze off of him and looked back to Casey.

"So that's our plan? Get Chuck somewhere safe where he won't harm anyone and use his body to find a cure?"

"You have a better idea?"

"No…"

"Then, yes, that's the plan."

Sarah rocked back in her chair, lost in thought. She didn't like the plan one bit but it was better than nothing. She just had to be patient. Everything would be ok. Sarah looked at the wall, seeing a clock hung up. It was just after ten in the evening.

"How long does it take for the infection to spread throughout the host's body?" she asked suddenly. She had always wondered what the incubation period was. She never was so interested before, not like Chuck…or Morgan for that matter. Being nerds, they had a weird fascination with the undead. It must've been from all those horror movies they've watched or the video games too.

Casey sighed. He informed her: "Anywhere from an hour to a day. So we're playing Russian roulette with time right now. We don't know how long Chuck will be able to fight it off."

There was a long pause.

"John?" Sarah started. _Alex…?_

"Hmm…?"

"Are we going to tell him?"

_Tell him that he's going to become a monster._

_Tell him that the chance of survival is minimal._

_Tell him that he will lose his humanity._

_Tell him that through all of this, I—we will still love him._

_What will we tell him exactly?_

Casey hesitated momentarily before answering. "Yes. It's something we can't keep from him. Chuck has to know."

Sarah began to feel numb all over. In a matter of hours, Chuck will no longer be…Chuck. He will be something else entirely. The only thought that ran through the solace of her mind was what she had told Chuck about him coming home safe so he could be with his sister and her newborn child.

"_You're going to be an uncle."_

She covered her mouth with one hand to prevent a sob from escaping her. Her eyes stung while hot tears poured down her cheeks. Chuck was lying in a pool of blood, his chest rising up and down. He looked _so _normal.

"I want to be the one who tells him," she spoke in a faint whisper.

Casey nodded glumly.

There were claws scratching against the walls. Animalistic howls pierced and echoed throughout the safe house. It petrified their hearts. They knew that time was running out.

And neither of them was going to sleep.

* * *

**An: **How was that? Good? Bad? Confusing? Enough with the rhetorical questions, I promise that things will make more sense soon enough. I'd advise readers that are not familiar with the Left 4 Dead franchise to wikipedi it and educated yourselves. It's pretty self-explanatory.

So what's gonna happen next? Are Sarah and Casey going to be able to save Chuck and take him back to the Base? Or will everything go straight to Hell? Dun dun dunnn!

Let me hear your thoughts!

R&R


	2. Go Back To Sleep

**An: **Thank you for the reviews as always! I'm glad you guys liked it!

As a note, I changed the title of the story for a reason. I was listening to my IPod and heard _Counting Bodies like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums_ by A Perfect Circle playing and was like, "OMG that's perfect!" So there ya go!

I do not own Chuck or Left 4 Dead. That's NBC and Valve bitches.

R&R

* * *

When the first rays of dawn had first begun to seep through the slivers of the bunker's ceiling, Chuck found himself slowly regaining consciousness. The sunlight peaked into the many crevices and settled directly above his face, which had now become a sallow and unhealthy color. The blood that had dried into his clothing began to flake off like sand. What remained of the crimson pool he had slept overnight in, stayed as moist and sticky as before. There was a steady increase of warmth that circulated throughout the room; encouraging the three survivors out of their slumber and into yet another dismal day of living through such unfortunate circumstances.

Now the daylight had eventually illuminated the safe room in its entirety. Chuck's eyes were hooded beneath its lids as he finally came around. Tired and weak, not to mention disorientated, he tried to lift a hand to block out the very annoying and persistent sun. His attempt was lackluster. He found that even his arm felt like it weighed a ton of bricks and refused to cooperate. Chuck sighed and knew his throat was arid from dehydration and and hoarse from screaming. So as he took in his first timid gulp of air and swallowed it, he felt the sensation of a fire burning a trail down to his lungs. He shut his eyes tight when he felt the sudden urge to cry out.

Chuck Bartowski did not anticipate the pain to be so intense. He frankly did not expected to be pain at all. But there was and it was not a mere throb like he would've predicted. He wondered why he felt this way. His mind ached when it tried to process everything that had happened the night before. He could not remember much. This made his headache grow worse; frustration and impatience set his nerves on high alert. Again, he felt like he was on fire. The pain was so deep into his skin that he finally gave up. His brows contorted into an anguished expression while his weathered lips pressed into a tight grimace. Minimal strength allowed him to ball his hands into fists. Color drained from his face and—

He moaned.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sarah was still sitting in the chair. Her back had been hunched over in a peculiar way so that she could rest on the table. Blonde hair spilled on the table's surface like a golden halo, shrouding her face which had been hidden beneath her arms. All in all, it didn't seem to be that comfortable. It was actually downright awkward.

Nevertheless, when the distinct sound of a human moan (often sounded like a pitiful whine) filled her ears, the CIA spy reacted at once. At first, she shifted deeper into her seat and emitted an upset groan of her own. Then a long pause occurred. Sarah heard a louder moan this time and it was beginning to get harder to ignore. She stifled a yawn and completely forgot where she was. Her head lifted up very sluggishly and her arms stretched up to the ceiling. Eyes still closed, she smacked her lips and a smile crossed her face.

"Chuck," she mumbled sleepily, "What are you doing up so early, baby?"

She got no response and let one blue eye see beyond its dark veil. This time she did yawn.

"Chuck?" Sarah repeated. Her voice grew slightly worried. The other eye opened and was a cloudy blur.

The moaning became worse to the point that Casey, who was slumped against the barred door with a gun, strapped to his chest, had instinctively fingered the trigger and pulled it by accident. There was a loud bang when the shot was fired. Sarah jumped out of the seat and almost her skin as well. Casey's hand snapped off the weapon when his eyes flew open in shock. The two spies then looked at each other, both with different expressions.

Casey's was an irritated scowl. He cursed, "Son of a bitch! What the hell was that?"

Sarah shot him an unsympathetic look. Her mind was fuzzy and the reason why she was locked up in a bunker rather than curled up in bed beisde Chuck became abundantly clear. She teased,"Didn't I tell you not to bring automatic guns with you to bed?"

"I was on guard duty, Walker," he growled indignantly. The Colonel pushed himself up to his feet, scratching his head. "Anyway, what I want to know is what got me to pull the trigger in the first place."

Sarah pursed her lips together and was about to shrug, but had stopped when another moan echoed in the room. It resembled less of an infected and more of a human being. It sounded frail and injured. It caused both agents to turn around and confront the origin of the noise.

"_Sarah!"_

Her mouth felt like sand paper. She mouthed his name but it couldn't be vocalized. _Chuck?_

"_Sarah," _he screamed again. _"Please, Sarah…I need….help!"_

Chuck was writhing on the cold tiled floor, surrounded by blood. But instead of laying flat on his back he somehow managed to flip over so that he was now on his hands and knees. His fingers were digging into the ground like he was holding onto it for dear life. What was left of his unruly hair had now fallen over his face, the brown curls obscuring his bloodshot eyes. His shoulder heaved up and down with each laboring breath. He was panting hard.

Sarah's eyes were widening in horror. Just like that, all of her morning delusions had vanished completely and only the harsh realities remained. She felt like time had been suspended and everything was moving in slow motion. She left Casey's side (who was now just recovering from his bout of drowsiness) and immediately rushed towards Chuck. It strongly reminded her of not just a few hours earlier when Chuck had first been attacked. The terror she had felt coursing through her veins, infecting every fiber of her being…she did not think that it could be reciprocated. But it had.

She collapsed to the floor, her sights focused solely on him. She managed to still be able to yell out orders to Casey. "I need pills, John! They're in the cabinet!"

Casey nodded with an affirmative grunt. Sarah heard his thundering footsteps as he ran to find the sedatives. Meanwhile, she was face-to-face with Chuck. He had raised his head slightly, meeting his feeble gaze with her frightened one. His entire face was pale and dripping with cold sweat. Droplets of blood trickled down the corners of his mouth and splattered to the floor like red paint.

He gasped for air like a fish out of water. Then, to Sarah's sheer amazement, he let a small smile work its way into his features.

_How can he possibly smile at a time like this?_ She thought wildly. The surprises kept coming when Chuck began to laugh madly under his breath. There was a disturbed, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach._ Oh no…its happening isn't it? He's dying!_ _He really has been infected and now _my _Chuck is going to die. _

Chuck must've noticed the fear changing in her countenance because the laughter died into a subtle chuckle and then stopped all together. Struggling to get his knees tucked underneath him, Chuck was able to move into a sitting position. He stared at Sarah with deep concern outlining his deathly ill complexion. His head made a slight tilt, like he was confused or curious about something that piqued his interest, and then lifted a hand up to caress Sarah's face.

He cupped her cheek and stroked it with his forefinger. Sarah noted that his right hand had never ceased to tremble. In fact, it had escalated into unstoppable shaking. She wanted desperately to breakdown and cry. Cry for Chuck; cry for herself, and to cry for the world. But she could not do that just yet. Not when she still needed to be strong. Chuck had told her explicitly to be tough, stay strong. Because if she couldn't be strong, who could? And if no one could, than what really was the point to keep on living?

Sarah looked at Chuck and realized just how bright his eyes were. His soft chocolate brown irises were shining witha golden radiance that was unlike anythign she had seen before. They were warm and hopeful and Sarah sought refuge in them. She knew that this was not a sign of death. No, it was of life. There was fight in those eyes. Chuck was still fighting the disease. It hadn't won just yet. There was still time.

"Why are you so upset?" Chuck's question brought her back into the present. It was jarring how thick and rough his voice was. It had to be from all that screaming, she figured.

She tried at a smile but failed miserably. "I—I'm not u—upset," her throat cracked and her lip trembled. She averted her gaze for just a moment and saw that the bandage covering Chuck's neck wound had bled through. The once white material was now stained dark red. Strength left her voice and she resumed in a tiny whisper, "I promise."

Chuck considered what she said for a moment and then shook his head. Only that it appeared like his neck was swaying back and forth like a pendulum, ready to drop out of its alignment. He didn't believe her pitiful excuse. Chuck knew her better than that. He was about to challenge her but the faint return of footsteps interrupted him.

"Look, there aren't any antibiotics left," Casey informed her like a soldier. He sounded bitter and regretful however. "But I did find these…don't know how it'll help much, but maybe they can try and stall whatever is working its way through Bartowski's system?"

Sarah craned her neck and saw Casey holding out three giant needles teeming with a neon green liquid. She glanced at them briefly before grabbing one and presenting it in front of Chuck's quivering eyes.

"Chuck," she began slowly, "This is an adrenaline shot. You know what that is don't you?"

His hand slipped off its place on Sarah's face and fell limply to the tile floor. His doe eyes were as big as saucers. He visibly gulped (shutting his eyes when it apparently stung his throat) and nodded his head.

Chuck replied, "Yes."

Sarah fingered the needle and continued, "Ok, well this stuff is going to really help you. It'll make you feel good as new." She forgot to include that its effects were only a temporary fix. But Chuck didn't need to know that; his muddled brain would most likely listen to everything she said as long as it would abate the pain.

"I don't like needles Sarah," was his weak protest. Even he knew that it was futile by now. The brightness of his eyes had dimmed with resignation.

"I know you don't. But Chuck, you need to take it. You want to feel better, right?"

"Why?" He asked her quietly. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Fresh blood was smeared into his fingerless glove. He cringed and said again, "Why do I need this?"

Casey made a nervous noise in the back of his throat. His arms were crossed over his chest; the remaining two shots were safely tucked into his bag. He lowered his gaze and looked at Sarah, expecting her to talk. And more importantly: to come clean.

Sarah tried for the simple answer: "You're hurt Chuck."

Chuck gave her a 'no kidding' stare and waited for her to elaborate. Sarah shifted anxiously on the floor and heard the disgusting squishy sound of blood and guts moving beneath her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and then said, "You don't remember what happened last night, do you?"

The curly-headed spy blinked, perplexed. His utterly blank look gave Sarah even more of a reason to feel guilty of his lack of unawareness.

"Not anything at all?" She contested.

He simply shook his head, saying. "No…should I have?"

Sarah went silent. Chuck's face went slack and whiter if possible.

"What…what happened?" He asked shakily. "What happened to me—" His hand snapped to his injury and lingered there. The red seeped through and wetted his palm. He panicked, "Sarah, tell me what happened? Where did _this _come from?"

There was an agonizing beat and when Sarah couldn't give Chuck a sufficient answer, Casey spoke up from behind. "You were attacked," he explained straightforwardly. Chuck looked petrified and mouthed something intelligible. Sarah could not distinguish it. Casey let him sort out his thoughts before saying, "It was in here. That crazy jackass that locked himself up in here was infected. We didn't catch him in time and well…" his blue eyes trailed to Chuck's wound.

"He couldn't have bitten me!" Chuck retorted in a matter-of-fact way. "I mean, I'm immune, right you guys?" He looked to his former handlers for confirmation. "Right…?"

"We don't know what exactly happened," replied the hardened Colonel. "All we know is that Hunter bit you and has tainted your blood—"

"What, a Hunter?" Chuck practically shouted. He was chuffing for air. He fixed his scared gaze onto Sarah, who was refusing to make contact the entire time. "Sarah is—is this true? I got bit..."

"By a Hunter, yes," she spoke numbly. Her eyes never once meeting his, "Casey is telling you the truth."

Chuck kept looking at her with a hurt expression. The denial had come and gone and he accepted, as angry and upset, not to mention frightened he was, that what was happening was real. Even so, it still could not keep the grief from appearing on his face when Sarah was trying so hard to avoid his gaze. Was he already so contaminated that Sarah could not even bear to look at him in the eye? Or was she ashamed that she had let him down and got him injured? Either way, it still crushed his heart to see her this way.

"So what happens now?" He asked with a sigh. "Am I going to, you know…" he couldn't finish. He was too tired.

"Not so sure yet," Casey said honestly. "All I know is that we need to get you back to Base and ASAP. If you're immune, then great, but if you're infected…we need to get you the best help that we can."

Chuck let this sink in. He knew he was immune to the virus. He remembered being tested along with Sarah, Casey, his sister and Morgan before entering the base as refugee victims. The military determined he was perfectly fine. They told him that and expected to beleive them. He clenched his jaw in bitterness. He felt sick to his stomach that everything he was told could've been a lie. He didn't even think that the Green Flu was a flu after all. Devon was probabaly right. Chuck felt a stabbing pain in his chest when he reaccounted his awesome brother-in-law's demise. Devon never got the chance to spread the word, nor was he ever going to see his wife give birth to their first child.

_I promised Devon I would be there for Ellie if anything bad happened to him, _Chuck rationalized. _I just can't sit here and accept that I lost. I have to be optimistic...I need to survive. For Ellie, my little unborn nephew, and for Sarah. I just can't roll over and die, I'm not who I used to be. I'm stronger now. I have to be brave. For all of them._

Sarah watched Chuck recover from the news. It seemed like he had gone through every stage of the five steps of grief, and it had only been a few minutes. It was pleasently surprising how well he was actually taking it. She even felt rather foolish for htinking she had the worse end of the entire situation, which she obviously did not. She was healthy and unbitten. There was not a hungry virus eating away at her, turning her into a homicidal beast.

She wasn't becoming a monster.

_He_ was.

"Chuck," she began to whisper. "We want you to…_I _want you to make out of this alive, more than anything in the world." Now she was making straight eye contact and observed that Chuck's eyes were waging war within itself. She did not know what to think of this. She continued: "So to do that, we need to get you somewhere safe, like Casey said."

Chuck nodded in understanding. An end came to the inner turmoil and he became oddly calm. He reached a hand out and stole the green-filled needle before Sarah could react quick enough. He held it in his hand and studied it with mild dread. Anyone who knew Chuck for a minute or so knew of his outrageous phobia of needles. But he had the point of the needle aimed for his bicep; he leveled his gaze back to Sarah. He looked ready.

"I don't really feel like dying anytime soon," he said plainly. A spark of life beheld in his gaze. He offered a famous Bartowski grin. "So if I have to stab myself with the super long needle to give me the energy I need to make it back alive, then so be it." Chuck jabbed the two-inch long needle into his flesh and pushed hard enough so that the chemical drained into his bloodstream. He shut his eyes and let out a pained sigh. Once the shot was empty, he casted it aside.

A moment passed and the sun had made its way finally into the center of the sky. Sarah and Casey watched Chuck with marveling apprehension, waiting for what would happen next.

Sarah was not keen on the silence and asked, "Chuck? Are you ok?"

One eye cracked open. It was alive with new vigor. The other one was sure to follow, and the pair of brown opals matched the brilliant grin that enveloped Chuck's face. He bounded to his feet and stretched out his arms to their fullest extent.

"I feel awesome!" Chuck exclaimed. He was practically bouncing on his heels. Sarah and Casey exchanged funny looks. It was almost a repeat of when Chuck first informed them he knew Kung Fu. "I mean, needle or not, and I freaking hate needles, this stuff….Wow! This stuff is just—"

"The best, huh?" Casey finished, looking thoroughly amused by the younger man's reaction to the medicine.

Chuck lit up. "Exactly! It's without a doubt the best stuff EVER!" His fast speech halted to a sudden end when his mouth snapped shut and his arms wrapped themselves over his body. He began to shake insistently, his teeth were even chattering. "Is it cold in here, or is it just me?" He rubbed his shoulders and quipped, "It's probably just me…"

Casey looked from Chuck to Sarah. He said from the corner of his mouth, "The shot gave him a boost of energy but it still isn't cutting it. He's gonna feel all the symptoms soon enough. Isn't the chills one of them?"

"Yes," Sarah agreed sadly. She was happy that Chuck had some of his energy back (even if it did make him a little unstable), but to see that he was slowly being consumed by the Green Flu…it was killing her. "He's already experiencing some of the physical symptoms: pale skin, cold sweat, nausea, excruciating pain…"

"So in a few hours should we expect him to start exhibiting some of the nastier stuff?" Casey inquired. "There are psychological symptoms, right?"

"No one has gotten close enough to a victim during their transformation to account for those kinds of symptoms…" As she spoke she sounded gravely hollow.

Casey grunted, "Well I guess we'll be the first, huh?"

Sarah didn't answer. The Colonel gave her a brief pat on the shoulder and murmured, "Hang in there, Wa—Sarah," and then walked away to gather supplies.

This left Sarah alone with Chuck. He was still shaking like he was outside during a blizzard. He hacked a fit of coughs which made Sarah wince. When Chuck controlled himself, his sniffed his nose and looked miserable.

"This sucks," he choked meekly.

"I know," Sarah replied. There was gooseflesh rising across all of Chuck's exposed skin. An idea suddenly struck her and she held up a finger, "But hold on a sec. I think I have something that can help a bit."

Chuck gave her his best effort of a smile and watched Sarah whirl around and head towards the lockers. With the stainless steel blade she magically pulled out of her combat gear, she used the weapon to dig and break the locker combo open. Satisfied, she swung it open and saw a rack of clothes hanging on the hanger. There was a pair of pants, boots, a shirt, and then her eyes caught what she was looking for.

"This should make you feel a little less like you're freezing to death," Sarah held up the article of clothing and the tossed it to Chuck. "Here!"

Chuck caught the garb. "A sweatshirt, how ironic," he said with a twist of an amused smirk. He slid his arms through each hole and shrugged the rest of it on his shoulders. Taking the zipper in his hand, he zipped it up until only a some of his Kevlar vest was showing. He raised his arms and waved them to Sarah, who was happy to see he was not shaking nearly as bad as he had been before.

"So," he began, "how does it look?"

Sarah looked at Chuck's latest addition of apparel and nodded with strong approval. It was a blue and red striped hoodie. For some reason it fitted Chuck just right. It almost seemed to have been made exclusively for tall, moderately built men.

"Looks great," she said.

Chuck sent her a wolfish grin and flipped the hood over his head, covering his eyes completely. Sarah felt her stomach lurch when he laughed and playfully remarked, "See, I'm a Hunter already!"

"Please don't say that…"

His grin faded as he saw Sarah frowning. He lifted the hood with his thumb, revealing one apologetic eye. "I'm sorry Sarah, I didn't think that would upset that much."

She crossed her arms over her breast, feeling a cool December breeze hit her body. "It's ok, Chuck, really. I just thought that well," she chuckled darkly under her breath and shook her head, "never mind."

"No, what were you going to say?"

Chuck was now standing before her, the hood back to being cascaded over his face. She didn't know if he was staring directly at her, but felt his sweaty palms grab a hold of hers. He reeled her into his embrace; arms snaked around her back, holding her still.

"Chuck, it doesn't matter alright? At least not to you," Sarah added as an afterthought. She regretted it immediately.

"What are you talking about?"

She felt his hands tremble furiously as they tried to remain steady. She sighed, lifting her arms and settling a hand on each shoulder.

"It just seems that you're not taking this seriously." Chuck looked affronted but she continued, "Look. We just told you that you were probably infected and you had your little freak out but…"

"But, what?" He countered. "Am I supposed to still be freaking out that I might become a monster?" He scoffed. "From what I've learned these last couple of years is that freaking out gets your nowhere. You gotta keep a level head. Be cool, calm, and collected. You taught me that, remember?"

Sarah was speechless. She began to fiddle with the drawstrings of Chuck's new jacket. He however was waiting for a response.

"You're right," she finally replied. "You shouldn't be freaking out. I was wrong. But are you already accepting your fate, Chuck?"

"Hmm?" he looked at her with questioning eyes.

She brought a hand to the hood of his jacket and gave it a soft tug. Chuck's brows raised and he understood. "I was just playing around, Sarah. It was a joke. Remember jokes?"

Ah, jokes. Oh she remembered jokes alright. Jokes were funny. They made her laugh. Even Chuck's corny one-liners held a special place in her heart for a good chuckle or two. But this was not a joke. It was far from one. It was the future. It was Chuck's future and her future. And it was a dark one at that.

Sarah was still hanging on to the hood's fabric. Her hand clenched it tightly until she finally pulled it off of Chuck's head. He looked at her with genuine surprise. His unruly hair was pressed against his dampened forehead. There were already purple blemishes bruising underneath his eyelids which made him look like an insomniac.

"If you love me, then don't joke about what matters to me most," she said seriously.

"And what's that?" he asked.

"You, Chuck," she cupped his face in her hands. He leaned into them, seeking warmth, "you and your mind:your life. That's all that matters to me. It's all I care about."

"I love you Sarah and I swear to you that I will never get left behind," he was searching her eyes and saw that they were watering. "I won't die, and this will not beat me. I promise that it won't, ok? It _won't."_

She smiled soulfully, "I love you too Chuck. And I won't let it beat you either."

"Good," Chuck smiled back at her.

She echoed him, "Good."

Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his. She felt them and they were cold to the touch. It was like a hard slab of ice. Shivers trailed up her spine but she ignored them and only reveled in the kiss. Once they parted, she saw that Chuck looked a lot healthier. There was even some color in his cheeks.

"Hey, love birds!"

The two tore their dreamy gazes off each other and turned to see Casey standing by the door. He was wearing his combat gear and holding a backpack over his shoulder along with several new weapons. He was wearing a grin.

"Let's get this show on the road. But, Walker you should dress Bartowski's wound before we head out."

They both nodded and Chuck gave the gruff man a mock salute: "Yes sir, Colonel, sir!"

Sarah giggled. It felt like a foreign thing to do. But it was amazing. It made her feel light and bubbly and just plain _nice. _

"I'll get the medical tape and patch you up," she told Chuck.

He gave her a cheeky grin. "Whatever you say, Dr. Walker MD."

Sarah blushed at his remark.

Casey took one last look at the two other members of Team Bartowski. They were laughing and smiling without a care in the world, just like the good ole days. He allowed his lips to turn upwards into a faint but real smile. Shaking his head, he leaned up against the barred door.

He grunted in sheer disbelief, "Morons."

* * *

**AN: **Sooooo, how was that?

Leave a review and tell me exactly how you feel! I won't bite! I promise! Sort of.

Also, sorry if it was confusing in anyway. I wrote this from 11:00PM to 3:30 AM and it may have (will have) mistakes. So sorry! I'll correct them later when I feel like it.

**NOTE: **Corrected it and added some new dialouge and the like. Enjoy :)


	3. Truth, Choice, and Other Poison Devils

**An: **Always happy for the reviews, even if I was expecting more (yes I am selfish about gaining a lot of reviews). This chapter will be more emotional and the calming before the storm sort of deal. Things get intense next chapter, I promise you.

This is heavily Charah based, so rejoice if you're into that sort of thing.

I don't own Chuck or Left 4 Dead.

R&R

* * *

**Chapter 3—Pain, Truth, Choice, and Other Poison Devils**

**I**t took approximately thirty more minutes to get everything settled before the survivors could finally leave the safe room. Bags were packed with weapons and ammunition in preparation for the hardships that would be soon to follow. Sarah knew as the day wore on that things would become difficult, even impossible to obtain a good outcome from. Their future looked bleak. She tried to keep an optimistic outlook. Chuck earned that much from her.

Speaking of Chuck, he was sitting on top of the table. His long legs swung back and forth as he was absentmindedly looking around, trying with all his might _not_ to make direct contact with Sarah, or what she was attempting to accomplish. Sarah was sitting on a chair beside him, a first-aid resting on the tabletop next to her for easy access. She had just unraveled the used bandage from Chuck's neck, exposing the injury.

He was twitching a lot.

Sarah could feel the dampness of his skin and how cold the sweat had become in only a half-hour. With a grimace of her own she soaked a rag with alcohol and proceeded to dab it onto the site of the wound. Chuck made an odd noise. It was unlike anything she had heard before; there was no trace of humanity in its sound. It was a mix of a whine and a deep hiss.

Recovering slightly, he said: "Heh. That hurt a lot more than I thought it was going too…"

Sarah ignored Chuck's comment to keep herself preoccupied with the task at hand. She removed the bloody rag from his neck and casted aside only to pick up the disinfectant. Feeling the air in the room grow stale with fear, Sarah lifted her head and shared a sympathetic smile with Chuck.

He looked terrified.

"Well then," she began slowly. "You should probably brace yourself for what's next."

She indicated the spray bottle, shaking it for emphasis. Chuck cringed. He held the underside of the table to keep himself from shaking. His brown doe eyes focused on what was directly in front of him: which was Casey, who had been hanging by the exit and smirking at Chuck. Brows narrowing down, Chuck scowled at the Colonel.

He asked. "Find something funny, Casey?"

Sarah squeezed the spray bottle and Chuck felt an onslaught of pain flare up on his open wound. He howled and another animalistic hiss escaped his throat; sounding less human than the first. Sarah continued despite this. But her facial expression was now traced with worry, concerned at his hostile behavior.

Casey, meanwhile, remained smirking in spite of this.

"Yeah I do."

"And why's that?" Chuck's face contorted into further anguish. His lips lifted to expose his clenched teeth. They were white but stained with smeared blood.

Sarah was annoyed at the unnecessary banter. For whatever reason Casey had to be instigating Chuck was not good enough for her. She dropped all of her supplies and spat, "Would you both just quit it?"

Her shaking fingers pulled out a clean bandage and she forced Chuck to give her his full attention. The look he gave her was teeming with annoyance and fatigue. His eyes had darkened considerably and Sarah noticed the beginnings of a reddish tint outlining his irises.

She carried on in the same perturbed tone, "And Chuck: focus. The last thing we need right now is the two of you arguing for no reason at all. So just stop."

Casey grunted, not too happy at Sarah's interference. All he was trying to do was distract the kid from the pain, but he became quiet. He turned his back on the two of them and decided to survey what lay outside the confines of the room. Chuck, however, kept his hardened gaze on Sarah. At first, he looked pained and a little upset. But then it diminished and the red in his eyes ebbed away.

He bowed his head in a sheepish manner. He lost his temper and was extremely embarrassed.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled apologetically. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

A small smile returned its way to Sarah's lips. She assured him, "Its fine, Chuck. You're hurt and on edge, we all are. I don't expect you always to be a ray of sunshine. If you were, then I'd think there's something wrong with you."

She placed gauze on his wound and watched the blood seep into the material. The bite marks were prominent in his skin; she admired it with great distain. The blood oozed and she quickly used the bandage to cover it before a bigger mess was created.

Chuck laughed and there was an edge of bitterness in it. "So the next time we are cornered by a horde in a life-or-death situation, and I break out laughing with a smile on my face, you should shoot me because I've probably gone insane?"

Sarah did not know if what he said was meant to be taken seriously or not. Either way, she didn't take it lightly. Chuck was vaguely alluding to when it was time to put him out of his misery, if that time came at all. He was looking at her straight in the eye, expecting a response of some kind.

Her smile fell and was brooding. Chuck realized that he had upset her. The long dreaded silence continued. He looked down and away, ashamed for provoking her emotions in such an unkind way.

"Sarah, look I didn't mean it that way, honest." He half-lied because he really was thinking of the inevitable.

Sarah forced a tight smile for Chuck's benefit. "It's alright, just promise you'll stop apologizing for things that are out of your control?"

He sighed, "I don't think that's possible."

"Probably not," she agreed. Her fingers kept working to tend his injury. "But you can still try. None of this is your fault. It was just bad luck."

"Do you honestly believe this was just a case of bad luck?" he asked, searching her for an answer.

She was surprised, "You think you deserved this?" Sorrow panged at her chest and she said, "Chuck, nobody deserves this, let alone you. How can you possibly think that?"

Chuck found it difficult to keep his eyes from straying away from hers. They were a piercing blue, bright and fully aware with what was lurking in the depths of his mind. He was caught off guard by them and had no choice but to face them.

"I don't know," he muttered. "It seems that every time I'm happy, there's always something just right around the corner that screws it up."

Sarah remembered six months ago, the day before the infection had spread throughout Burbank; Chuck had taken her out to a very nice dinner. It was the place where they had their first date. Then they drove to the beach and watched the sun rise. Both knew there was something terrible coming. Chuck must've had the hunch before her because he had gotten to one knee and presented her with a black velvet box.

There was a beautiful ring inside. Chuck had proposed.

Sarah, of course, had accepted his proposal with earnest.

When he slipped the ring on her finger, they sat on the sandy beach in each other's arms. There was something foreboding about this, Sarah remembered. They were welcoming the end of the world without even knowing it. They welcomed it with wide arms.

"—it must be an ongoing trend of mine, huh? First Mom left, and then Dad, but I did get the Stanford Scholarship. And yet I met Jill and Bryce; got kicked out of school, got the Intersect….met you—"He kept rambling, not caring whether Sarah was listening or not.

Sarah was too busy staring at her left hand to hear him. His voice had been drowned out by her memories of what could've been and should've been. The ring, tarnished and crusted with blood, was still resting on her finger. It was an engagement ring. It strengthened the bond between the both of them, joining them together till death do us apart…

But they never got that far to say their "I do's."

She never got to be Mrs. Sarah Bartowski.

Her heart clenched as if it were strangling itself to death. They were going to be _married._

"Chuck," her voice was a soft whisper.

He stopped in mid-rant. He looked at her oddly before asking, "Uh, yeah?

She wanted to ask him a million things. There were so many questions that have been left unanswered between them. There was still so much to know, to learn. But she knew that bringing any of it up would only hurt them both in the end.

She ended up replying, "You're all done."

Chuck touched his wound and felt the bandage protecting it. He blushed and nodded.

"Thank you, Sarah."

She couldn't muster the courage to even say, 'you're welcome.'

It just hurt way too much.

* * *

It was a cool winter day. The sun was perched up high in the cloudless blue sky. The sky itself was infinite, like an entire ocean encompassing the heavens. It created such an atmosphere, that to the survivors, the world was truly endless. Everything went on and on with no real end in sight. Just like the plague had as well, it swept across the planet in a swift, deadly fashion.

Chuck watched as Sarah and Casey made their way cautiously out of the safe room's barred doors and outside. A squeamish feeling churned in his stomach that made him uneasy. He did not know why. They appeared to be safe. There were no zombies out there. The sun's intensity must've scared them off.

Even so, he still hung back in the comfort of the church.

There was a foreign sensation urging him to stay in the dark. It told him that it was safer in there. Not because it was a bunker, designed to keep survivors of the infection like himself alive, but because of the absence of light.

And because of _them._

He did not know when paranoia had first set in. But it was now deep underneath his skin, crawling and spreading throughout his entire body. He could rationally explain this was due to the Infection. He told himself this repeatedly ever since Sarah was dressing his wound.

It did not stop this growing dread from taking him over.

It only pushed it further to where his rationale was fading into background noise. All he could do was try and stay as far as he could from both Sarah and Casey (emotionally and physically). This was already becoming a hopeless endeavor.

Every time he would even breathe, his heart would ram staccatos in his chest. Their scents alone set his teeth on edge.

Sarah's voice brought Chuck back from his muse. She was several yards ahead of him, glancing over her shoulder and her expression troubled. "Chuck, come on." She beckoned.

His eyes shifted from either side, making sure he was able to force his body outward. Sucking in a gulp of air, he took his first tentative steps outside of the room. They took forever. Each step felt like a lifetime; one foot after the other until he was halfway to where Sarah stood.

Sarah looked bothered by this. Her eyes bestowed such distress that Chuck felt stupid for seemingly ignoring for so long. Her face marked in misery, every time a smile was attempted, it would fall flat and unappealing. Casey, who was a bit further ahead, stared with the same expression. His gruff exterior had collapsed. Casey was infected with the blues as well.

Chuck felt the weight of his gun arm weigh his entire body down. The Uzi which was tightly grasped in his hand had been aimed downward. It was obvious that it was shaking; the barrel rattled. Other than the symptoms he felt, Chuck observed that all was quiet on the zombie front.

There was no one other than Sarah, Casey, and himself.

The paranoia receded. His reward was a subdued smile. He exchanged quiet look with Sarah. She nodded stiffly. Casey watched in the same silence. There was the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance.

Chuck took his next step. His neck angled upward to find the sun hovering directly in front of him. Its beams of light were hot. They were too hot.

What happened next went by fast.

His face dropped. Both eyes clamped shut. The heels of his hands dug into his eye sockets until he was acquainted with total darkness. He then proceeded to scream frantically as he felt as though he would burn alive.

"My eyes!" He screeched carnally. He pressed harder into his eyes and felt spots invade his vision. "God, my eyes, they're burning!"

Casey's voice rose above Chuck when he yelled, "What the hell is going on?"

Sarah traded a fearful glance with Casey and then they both sprinted at Chuck. His screaming was turning out of control. And the sounds he made were eerily like feral growls. He blindly back peddled, dropping his gun in the process.

Sarah was first to catch up to him. She reached a hand out to grab a piece of his jacket, but he tripped over his feet and crashed to the ground. She swiped a hand and missed. She came tumbling down too.

"Chuck," she gasped. She could feel a sharp pain from when she fell. "Calm down, you're ok."

Chuck was sitting on the dirt floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. His face was buried into them while his arms were wrapped around his legs, unwillingly to let go. Sarah crawled up to her knees and watched helplessly as he began to cry.

"He could've attracted a whole zombie army," Casey said as he neared. He did not sound angry at Chuck. There was hardly any feeling to what he said. He hung by Sarah's side, concentrating on the younger man as he sobbed. "The Infection is spreading, isn't it?"

Sarah replied hollowly, "It's spreading quicker than I thought…his eyes are extremely sensitive to light."

"This is why Hunters lose their eyes eventually then. They can't adapt to the sunlight."

"No, they can't."

"Great," he muttered. "How are we going to get Bartowski back to camp if he can't even see?"

It was a terrible thing to picture Chuck eyeless. Sarah had seen a Hunter's face before. Their features were mangled and grotesque. Their eye sockets were empty and bleeding. She did not want this for Chuck. She couldn't imagine his warm brown eyes ravaged by the virus. Eaten away…

"Chuck," she started again. Her voice was above his cries. "Listen to me: you're not burning."

His body stilled. The weeping died away and he said in a muffled voice, "I can feel my eyes, they're on fire. I know it."

"The sun won't kill you," she tried.

"The sun won't kill m-me, but sooner or later, m-my eyes are still going to b-be burned out of my s-skull."

She raked her fingers into the earth, at loss for words. Tears of her own were working its way from out of her eyes. She murmured, "I know…"

There was a long pause.

"I can feel myself changing…"

She barely heard him. She raised her head to see Chuck was staring at her. His eyes were a dark crimson and blood was pouring from his sockets.

"What?" It was the only thing she could think of to say.

"I can't control myself. I can feel the rage inside of me. It's there and growing all the time. But I can't listen to what it wants from me…"

Sarah was deathly afraid to ask. But she had to know, "What is it saying?"

His face was worn and exhausted. The bloody tears rolled down his pale cheeks when he inhaled deeply. "There's temptation. With everything I do: think, breathe. And it gets worse every time I see you."

"I-I don't understand…"

A beastly snarl came from somewhere close by. The terrible call was ignored by the three survivors. There were other dire things to be more worried about.

"I can't even breathe without smelling you, Sarah." His voice was strained and cracked when he spoke her name. "You're scent itself; it just…sets me over the edge."

"You can't function with me here," she whispered and it hurt her if it was true.

Chuck growled, "No! I can function with you, I swear! Sarah, you've always smelt amazing to me. But it's only heightened now."

She countered with a trembling voice, "You smell my blood."

He stuttered, "I—I…"

"You can't ignore it forever. It will eat you alive eventually."

"I can stop it!" Chuck told her desperately. "You know me well enough…I'll never let anything bad happen to you."

"You'll go mad," why was she telling him these things? Did he really need to hear them, or was it something that was meant solely for her?

"Please, Sarah, why are you saying this? You know me…you _know _I would kill myself before—"

Sarah saw the real tears begin to mix with the blood that smeared across Chuck's face. He was pleading with her. She was so scared, for him and herself. Her brain kept telling her that this was Chuck. It was still him, her best-friend, her lover, her god damn _fiancé!_

She could not abandon him now. Not like this. Not ever.

Sarah leaned forward and brought him into a hug. She pressed her face into his shoulder and held him tight. She said with lips against cold skin, "I'm so sorry. Chuck, I will never leave you. We are going to see through this until the end."

Chuck asked, "Together?"

She brought herself to a shaky smile. She back off of him and nodded. Her blue eyes were shining with fresh tears, "Always together."

In spite of the sadness that had almost crushed them, Chuck gave her a familiar lopsided smile. Sarah felt a release. The liberation from her fears made her return his smile. It no longer felt forced or fake. It was real. For the first time in a long time, she was actually content.

Sarah then took the hoodie than hung uselessly against Chuck's back and flipped it over his head. It covered his face and did elect a few chills from her, but Sarah knew that this was one way to save Chuck from the sun's punishment. He looked mildly surprised by this. His dark reddened eyes delivering a mystified expression.

"I thought you hated the hood?" He said confusedly.

"It will keep your eyes safe from the sun," she explained. "I think I'll get over it."

He kept a lingering gaze upon hers and nodded with a touch of a smile to his lips.

He said, "I love you."

After all of this, he still felt the same for her. Sarah was choked up. She didn't deserve this.

"I love you too," was her reply.

Chuck rolled to his feet and helped her up as well. Sarah had picked up his weapon and handed it to him for future use.

"You're going to need this."

He retrieved the gun and stashed it in his waistband, taking her hand instead. He squeezed it.

"I think we're safe for now."

From then on, Team Bartowski had traveled the long road with higher spirits. Casey was leading the pack, determined to get back home and give his daughter a needed hug. Sarah was stuck in the middle of two men she cared deeply for. Her sights set on the rendezvous point where Chuck could be saved. And Chuck was at the rear. Still holding Sarah's hand, the only thing swimming though his conflicted mind was of making sure that she was going to make it on the helicopter and back to the refugee camp alive.

That's all that mattered to him now.

His livelihood could wait.

It was his choice.

* * *

**An: **Sorry if they seemed sort of OOC. Chuck is changing so his personality will flux at some points, but hopefully his character will remain the same. Casey will have bigger part soon. And Sarah, I feel so bad about writing her so weak and mopey (the proverbial sad sack) but things are tough for her. She's an inside feeler and while she's good at hiding her emotions from everyone, it only takes a while for her to succumb to it in the end. She'll be stronger soon, because I know everyone loves a kickass Walker.

Review please! I really, really, love reviews!


	4. The Boogeymen Are Coming

**An: **I have returned with a long chapter! It's filled with action, suspense, romance, humor, horror, and heartache! Hopefully y'all enjoy it!

R&R

Things are gonna get real good right now. Be prepared for violence.

* * *

**Chapter 4—The Boogeymen are coming**

**T**he absence of the undead was nothing short of bizarre. It hovered over the survivors like a lingering fog; Chuck kept expecting to see one limping in the middle of the road, groaning in its frenzied state. Chuck felt it was peculiar to see a once thriving city so desolate, trampled to ruins by sickness and death. Such emptiness was disheartening. The silence that had replaced the constant whizzing of cars speeding down the highway, and the lively chatter of the people, created an eerie atmosphere neither Chuck, Sarah, nor even Casey could ignore.

Rusted cars littered the streets of Los Angeles. A cold draft breezed by; trash drifted on the concrete, likening it to a tumbleweed in an old western film. As they traveled further down the abandoned road, Chuck observed that the various shops and buildings were defiled with graffiti. Messages scrawled upon the walls read foreboding warnings that seized that heart with dread.

He was sure that nothing but action would assuage his growing fear. It would take his mind off of the present momentarily so that he could focus on survival rather than what would happen once he smelt the terrifyingly intoxicating scent of blood. So his mind did not wander far. Chuck busied himself by humming off-key to a song. It invoked happy memories, of a pleasant life filled with marriage, love, and a bright future.

Chuck thought he saw Sarah acknowledge the familiar melody. She seemed to have faltered while in midst of her tireless walk. Her head then bowed down in an almost ashamed manner; her feet picking back up to its original speed. The tune died on his lips, him keeping an eye the back of Sarah's head.

Words were spoken several minutes later. It had been almost an hour of complete silence and Chuck could not take it anymore.

"Doesn't anyone find it sort of odd that we are not for once"—He began by lowering his voice when he swore he heard something rustle in a nearby alley—"being chased by a bunch of flesh-eating zombies? It's weird, isn't it? I think it is, Sarah, Casey, thoughts please? I'd like to know that I'm not the only one freaking out over here."

"Trust me, you're the only one," said Casey.

"Are you kidding me," asked Chuck, surprised. "You haven't realized that we should be running for our lives right now?"

They were approaching the end of the street. Turning the corner, the three of them instinctively raised their guns. All let out a collective sigh when they were confronted with nothing but another long winding road.

"I personally take this as a good sign of fortune," Casey said gruffly. "We've been driven up and down this damn city for the past week. It's about time that we have a break."

"Yeah, but I seriously doubt that zombies will mind whether we should be allowed a break or not," was Chuck's sarcastic response. "You know they're just waiting in the shadows for the perfect time to attack."

Sarah shrugged the backpack further up her shoulders and pressed on. She tried to keep herself from expressing any amusement while the two men bantered back and forth. She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but a smile tugged on the corners of her lips.

"Have you even _seen _a zombie flick before?" continued Chuck, when Casey looked beyond annoyed.

"No, Bartowski. Luckily I've been able to avoid B-rated trash like that, because I'm not—"

"—A Nerd like me, I get it," finished Chuck dryly. "But I'm telling you that we _are _going to get ambushed. And when it does happen, I'll say _I'll told you so._"

Casey stopped at the next intersection. Sarah came to gradual halt and then gave Chuck a pitying glance followed by a tight-lipped smile. This was their unspoken communication that had Chuck realize his mistake for instigating John Casey while on an empty road with nothing to main or kill for miles.

The Colonel spun around and faced Chuck. He leaned in close until they were almost nose-to-nose. Hidden behind his hoodie, Chuck looked very uncomfortable.

"This is not some movie, Chuck. This is real life. And these _things _are not your average zombies. They are sick people with homicidal tendencies, which I'm sure you're aware of." His piercing gaze dropped to the wound covered by Chuck's jacket. Chuck narrowed his eyes in reproach but would not speak. "I thought the Intersect would've informed you that the disease doesn't allow them to be exposed to sunlight."

Chuck stuffed his hands into his pockets and gritted his teeth. "They aren't vampires, Casey. They are smarter than you give them credit for. You're wrong, and you'll see why soon."

Sarah watched with sad eyes as the two men disbanded in hostile silence. They resumed their travels down the endless road, keeping a wide berth with Sarah in the middle so that not another outburst would occur.

* * *

Chuck's prediction came true within hours. Shortly before the rally point, he had unwittingly detached himself from the others when a nasty wave of nausea swept over him. He held his stomach in both hands when he felt it churn and flip on its own accord. He had given a cry of pain: His blood boiled as something flashed across his mind like a snake coiled and ready to strike. He saw veil of red in his vision and felt a fury that was not his own pound through is body, violent and brief as an electric shock.

"Chuck what's wrong?" Sarah asked, advancing on him. "Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, I'm fine—a little nauseas though—"

"We need to sit him down," said Casey loudly. "I'll get some water."

"No, it's ok, honestly—it's not that bad—"

Chuck felt badgered, confused and Sarah did not help as she said in a worried voice, "You're sick, Chuck. Stop trying to act like it's not that bad. It _is _that bad. All we want is to help you…"

"I know," muttered Chuck; his head was throbbing, which made it hard to concentrate. "B—but we need to just forget about my condition for once, it's more important that we find a way back home—"

"But you're condition is important to me!" said Sarah shrilly. "I want to make sure that when we do find a way home, that you're there with me and alive!"

Chuck heard Casey agree. He could not fight the pain much longer. He had to succumb.

"Gonna throw up," he muttered, and he turned his back on Sarah and Casey, flipping the hoodie off of his head so he could breathe. He took off down the street as fast as he could without running, staggering his last few steps.

Chuck did not make it: wrapping his trembling hands around his stomach, he fell against the hood of a red BMW and began to puke. He retched and moaned. Grabbing his pounding head as it rested on the car's cool surface. There was an explosion of agony, he felt the rage of the infection possess his soul, and then he howled.

Sarah's voice as she screamed his name was lost on deaf ears. So was Casey, who had been yelling for the both of them to run. The pain in his head had reached his peak, but with a sense of emerging from deep water, Chuck drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes.

"Chuck, here, let me help you up."

He felt warm hands bring him upright. His palms were planted weakly on the hood of the car; bile slipped from his lips and his scarlet eyes sunk deeper into their sockets. He was dizzy and he groaned again.

"There you go, just let it all out," Sarah said, fighting to keep her voice casual as she lifted Chuck away from the car. She was rubbing his back in circular ministrations.

Chuck lifted his head slowly once regaining some of his strength. He used the backside of his hand to wipe away the remnants of vomit from his quivering lips. He was about to turn and meet Sarah with a weak smile, but froze in place, paralyzed.

"Run," he whispered under his breath.

Fingers were threading through his matted hair. He paid no attention to this. His paralysis thawed and he scrambled into alertness. He leveled a shaky finger and Sarah's enrapt gaze followed it curiously.

"Sarah! Run, now!"

* * *

Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Chuck and Sarah jumped into ready stances and drew their weapons in tandem. Casey was already armed and beckoning them towards him. They were only just realizing that something terrible had happened; two pairs of frazzled eyes were still preoccupied on what lay in the street ahead. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from when Chuck had shouted. Then something inhuman emitted a loud piercing scream.

Chuck and Sarah threw themselves out of the street. The Infected were sprinting in all directions; many were crawling on the walls; the city was roaring with blood curdling shrieks.

"Casey!" Sarah cried. "Casey, where's the rally point?"

As they pushed their way down the sidewalk, Chuck saw the hooded figures jumping across the rooftops; then he saw a hunchback looking thing fall from the sky, cackling hysterically as it landed on his back—

"Sarah! Sarah! Oh shit, get it off of me!" Chuck called, being steered against his will into the incoming horde. Sarah and Casey were buffeted by the infected: Chuck reached with both hands in attempt to rip whatever was riding him, off his shoulders. An onslaught of bullets whizzed over his head and then the weight had suddenly been lifted.

_Was that thing _humping_ me?_ Chuck's mind screamed.

And then Sarah was there. She caught hold of Chuck's free arm, pulling him in the opposite direction of the horde. He caught a quick glimpse of what had attacked him. It had been disfigured by a gunshot wound to the head; its face was a bubbling mess of blood and bone. He felt his eyes go cross-eyed when the Intersect took over.

The flash told him everything he needed to know about that creepy little leaper.

"What was that thing?" said Casey's voice. He had come back to assist his team from the horde.

"It's called a Jockey," panted Chuck. "They try to latch on your back and lead you to your death…"

"Well its dead now," Sarah spoke up. She was clutching the M60 tight to her chest. "Let's keep running before something much worse tries to kill us."

* * *

Chuck did as she asked. They sprinted up the wide street thronged with infected at every turn. The sun was shining brightly above them. Chuck grimaced when the rays touched his face, his eyes no longer stinging as they used to, but were still wildly sensitive. He threw the hood up over his face; he ditched the Uzi for two Glocks and continued running alongside Sarah and Casey.

"Remember when I said I was going to say _I told you so_?"

Casey grunted and swung his assault rifle, hitting an infected human square in the jaw. He gave Chuck a quick sidelong glance.

"Not now, Bartowski."

"Well here it is anyway: I told you so!" Chuck shouted at him, as Sarah gunned down several hostiles all at once. She suppressed a badly timed smile from taking over her features.

Red overwhelmed Casey's face and he steamrolled through the next batch of infected. Chuck and Sarah followed amusedly, listening as the former NSA spy was cursing under his breath. They bolted off the curb around a four-way intersection, dodging assorted vehicles when the infected came in droves.

"Aw crap, look what's following us!" Chuck announced suddenly.

Sarah was busy reloading her weapon; slammed the cartridge into the M60 and then looked over her shoulder. An obese zombie, covered in boils was tottering in their direction. The thing belched and gurgled. Sarah blanched.

"I hate Boomers," she replied.

"Right, so let's just outrun the stupid thing!" Casey interjected. He blew the top of an infected's head clean off.

She shook her head in defiance. Sliding her feet to a rough halt, she took her gun and angled it horizontally. When the Boomer came within a foot of her, Sarah's lips twisted into a smirk.

She slammed the gun into the thing's gut and it sprang back, confounded. In its daze, it leaned back and was prepared to spew its tainted vomit. But Sarah picked up running again and called to Chuck.

"Let him have it!"

Chuck grinned and aimed the barrel of the Glock over his head and fired blindly. Sarah was now a safe distance away from the zombie and was able to successfully catch back up to her team.

If one was curious as to how a Boomer earned its namesake, this would be a sufficient answer.

A single bullet struck it in the stomach and it exploded like a bomb filled with blood and green bile. It showered over the streets, for the infected to feed greedily. Not Chuck, Sarah, or Casey stopped to see what had happened.

Sarah said, "Nice shot."

Chuck nodded with a grin. He led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

"Well that was fun," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked down at his guns and then frowned, "Great. I have one round left."

"We need to find some guns then," suggested Casey. He appeared jubilant.

Sarah, on the other hand, was looking at Chuck. She was studying him carefully.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

"How are you doing?"

He shrugged.

"Better, I guess."

Sarah rummaged in her bag and pulled out a syringe filled with a sickly green fluid. She handed it to Chuck who took it awkwardly.

"Use this," she instructed with a nod of her head. "The adrenaline shot should last until we're rescued."

"You're amazing," said Chuck, sticking the needle into his arm with a grimace.

"Thank you," said Sarah, managing a small smile as she readjusted her bag. "Casey, do you see anywhere we could go that could have some weapons?"

Casey dug his hand in his backpack and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He put them up to his eyes and scoped out the area. He was looking through them for awhile. Chuck was leaning against the brick wall, watching the man thoughtfully.

"What do you see there, big guy?"

"Nothing so far," grunted Casey. "There are a few shops that look like they've been ransacked, a restaurant or two, and an apartment building not too far off that is around ten levels high."

"So, what's the game plan then? We make a break for the apartments and hope that the helicopter can land on the roof?"

"Pretty much," Casey answered and dropped the binoculars. Chuck was staring at the burly man with a shocked expression.

"He's right," said Sarah, who seemed to know that Chuck was about to argue, even though she could not see his face in its entirety from within his hoodie. "We need to try and get to the apartment complex. It's our only hope, really."

Chuck nodded and said, "Yeah." But he remembered that he was low on ammo, and fear bubbled like acid in his stomach.

"Come on, I think we should keep moving," said Sarah.

They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of infected humans on the opposite side was tearing apart an old corpse.

"Look, isn't that Kiriko, the sushi place?" Chuck asked Sarah.

"Yes, why, is there some significance to it?"

"Not really," said Chuck, looking around, "I just heard it was one of the best Japanese restaurants in LA. I was thinking about taking you there at some point."

Sarah looked down and away, her face flushed scarlet. Casey merely rolled his eyes and muttered, "Idiots."

"Maybe we should go in there?" said Chuck, cringing as the infected on the other side of the road started getting violent. "There could be some stuff we can use, knives, pans, ninja stars…"

"Fine, let's go," Sarah said hastily as Casey opened his mouth to say something not so nice to Chuck. "It's right next to the apartment, so it's not out of our way."

* * *

It was a large shabby restaurant. At one point, long before the Infection had spread to West Los Angeles, Chuck imagined that it was once a hot spot for all the Angelinos in the city. He was considering taking Sarah there for a date. But things didn't work out so well and they had entered through the side doors on entirely different circumstances than he liked.

It was just another thing that the Green Flu had ruined for him.

Casey slipped into the door first and Chuck came next, followed by Sarah, who had her back to the entrance and did not like it; she glanced over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to have a twitch. Chuck did not like being low on ammunition; weird because he did not have an affinity for guns in general, but only felt truly safe when he was armed. Under the influence of the adrenaline shot he felt his nervousness shift into anxiousness. The red film over his eyes grew more pronounced and drenched his vision in crimson. He pulled his flashlight out of his waistband and switched it on. It illuminated the interior of the restaurant in a soft unnoticeable glow. It was enough, however, to distinguish what lay inside.

After a minute or two, Casey said, "This better had been worth it, Bartowski. We should've just gone next door—"

"Casey, quiet!" said Sarah at once.

They relapsed into a prickly silence. All ears perked up, intent on listening in for anything out of the ordinary. Chuck closed his eyes and waited, rocking on the soles of his feet as we waited. Then, there it was.

Coughing.

It happened again, but came out more like a wheeze.

"Smoker…" the three said in unison.

"Where is it?"

"Don't know, but it's definitely somewhere in the restaurant."

"Why did we listen to you again?"

"Right, because this is _my _fault. How was I supposed to know that—?"

"Shush!"

The two men looked away from each other to face Sarah. She had a finger pressed to her lips. The survivors exchanged glances and then crouched to the floor. The Smoker was getting closer. It had begun to hack and black smoke sifted into the room they were in. Chuck covered his mouth with his hands to suppress a cough.

_Don't cough, don't cough, please don't cough! _He pleaded with himself.

Slow, heavy footsteps echoed in the restaurant. The floorboard creaked with each drag of the foot. The survivors kept quiet until the footsteps faded. Then Sarah poked her head from over the sushi counter; the room was pitch-black. She sighed and sat back down.

"I think it's gone."

"Are you sure?" Casey whispered.

She nodded, not so confident. She drew her pistol and then signaled for her to check again. She rose to her feet and Chuck watched with uneasy eyes. His gaze drifted slightly when he pointed the flashlight to the counter. A slow smile made his way over his face; his face taking on a familiar expression.

"—I was right, there's nothing here." Sarah spoke in a low voice. "We should get out of here before it comes…" She never got a chance to finish that sentence.

A long black tongue shot out of the darkness and wrapped itself around her neck. It squeezed her throat, crushing her windpipe so that she had trouble screaming for help. She dropped her gun and it clattered to the ground; fingers dug into the slippery appendage until she started to feel it pull her over the countertop.

Just when she thought she was doomed, Sarah heard the unreal sound of something sharp being unsheathed. Steel met the tongue with full force and Sarah could breathe again. The tongue fell off her neck and slipped to the floor. The Smoker made an angered cry and Sarah picked up her pistol and fired a full round into the black.

There was a loud thump and Sarah knew that the Smoker was dead. She turned her head and in the dim light, she saw Chuck was kneeling on the countertop, a new weapon clutched in both hands.

"Is that what I think it is?" She asked, astonished.

Chuck twirled the sword in his hand expertly and then slipped it through one of his pant's belt loops. It was bright enough to see that Chuck was looking smug.

"If you mean you think it's a katana, then you are absolutely correct," he replied.

Casey was now holding the flashlight, pointing it at Chuck and Sarah. He sounded just as surprised as Sarah, but with a hint of jealousy. "Where the hell did you find that?"

Chuck climbed off the counter, "It was hanging on the wall. Gotta love the Japanese, they're always prepared for the next horrible disaster."

The flash had left Chuck and so had the adrenaline. He felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. He buckled against the counter and groaned. Sarah scrambled off the counter and fell by Chuck's side. She was digging into her bag to find the last syringe.

"I thought it was supposed to last longer than twenty minutes!" Casey huffed.

Sarah's face was outlined with worry. Her hand was shaking. "It was…the infection must be getting worse."

"Sarah…."

She looked down and saw Chuck. His mouth was half-parted and his breathing was ragged. His eyelids were sagging shut and had that sunken in look. Her chest panged.

"Yes, Chuck," she strained a difficult whisper, "talk to me."

"We need to go home…" he mumbled dreamily.

Sarah nodded vigorously. "We will, Chuck, I promise." She steadied her hand and jabbed the last syringe into Chuck's arm. His head lolled back and he hissed.

"Hate…those…things…"

Sarah looked to Casey, who was looking worried. They both reached and took Chuck by either side and hoisted him to his feet. He stumbled in the dark until the medicine started to work into his system. Then he regained some balance and gave them a reassuring glance.

"Don't freak out guys," he inhaled a deep laboring breath. "We're going to get out of here alive."

* * *

"Everyone be quiet, I think I heard crying!"

It did not take long for them to reach the apartments. It was another building filled with a dense cloud of darkness. Sarah cared little about this. She was more concerned over Chuck's health than anything. But once she heard the sound of a woman sobbing, her breath went still. And so did everyone else's.

"Not a Witch," Chuck muttered nervously. He was still living in a daze. He continued to ramble, "Not a Witch, not a Witch."

But everyone knew it _was _a Witch. The tell-tale sign was the loud, unbearable shrieking that emitted from this poor zombie. When Chuck had flashed on her, the night of their escape from Burbank six months earlier, he had relayed to everyone that she was extremely lethal. She would sit in a dark corner, sobbing until someone was careless enough to startle her.

Then all hell would break loose.

Sarah felt tears of her own swim in her eyes. Their first confrontation with the Witch was not a good one. That was when Devon Woodcomb made his greatest sacrifice for his pregnant wife, Ellie. He saved her life and in the process, had been killed. Chuck was present when it happened. They all were. But it did not affect anyone nearly as much as it did to Chuck. She remembered there was so much blood. Devon went down first and then Chuck… he almost did not make himself.

_He has the scars to prove it too, _Sarah mused sadly.

"We need a good distraction," Casey's voice brought her back to the present.

Sarah blinked, "Like what? Use one of us as bait?"

"No," he shook his head. "Maybe we can create some noise and get her riled up. Then she'll go after wherever the noise is being made and we can get up the stairs since the elevator is obviously not working."

Sarah looked across the lobby and saw that the Witch was indeed blocking the stairway. She frowned at their terrible luck. Straightening up, she offered a quick glance at both men. Casey look determined while Chuck…was traumatized.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed at last. She rested a hand on Chuck's shoulder. He flinched, but continued to stare at the stairway. "Are you up for it, Chuck?"

"As long as we don't startle her," he said in a hollow tone. "It doesn't matter."

"Good," Casey interjected. He stood up on his feet and then cocked back his rifle He aimed it on the other side of the lobby. There was a mirror and a few vases placed on the tables. Squinting one eye closed, he advised: "Once I start shooting, we run like there's no tomorrow. Got that?"

He did not wait for a response. Casey squeezed the trigger multiple times and then they took off.

The Witch had stopped crying. It was now snarling in miserable rage. By now it should've been standing up, its wicked claws unsheathed, and her orange eyes glowing angrily. She sucked in air and screamed like a wounded animal.

Fortunate for Team Bartowski, they had already reached the door before the Witch knew what was going on. She let out another terrible screech and dashed for the survivors. Casey was at the door first. He flung it open and urged Chuck, and then Sarah inside. Once they were safe, he slammed the door closed. Long claw marks were slashed across the steel door's frame. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was a close call," he grunted, pleased. He turned his head to see Sarah standing a few stairs ahead of him. She was holding Chuck by one arm, making sure he wasn't going to run off or fall down the first floor.

"We need to hurry," her voice had a desperate edge to it.

Casey's eyes trailed to Chuck. His hood had fallen off yet again, allowing him to see what had become of his former asset, partner, and friend. Both eyes were scarlet red. His face had a sallow color, like the yellowish tinge has faded and now was replaced by a grey shade. It seemed that his skin was now an ashy color. He appeared to be his normal albeit, strange self, but Casey was waiting for when Chuck would finally snap and go mad.

With nothing else to say, Casey nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Ten flights of stairs later and they had made it to the fire escape. Sarah used the butt of her gun to wrench the door ajar. Casey was holding Chuck by the scruff of his neck, making sure he wasn't going to pass out. Her back to the wall, Sarah looked to her partner with weary eyes.

"Call them," she said.

He released Chuck from his hold, watching as he stumbled clumsily over to Sarah, drawing the katana, almost dropping it in the process. Casey sighed and then found the walkie-talkie in his bag. He fiddled with the dials until he got a signal.

_-this is Colonel John Casey, I am requesting for our pre-negotiated pick-up. I am with my team: Agents Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski of the CIA. We have made it to the rally point. I repeat: we have made it to the rally point. We are waiting for rescue. Over—_

"They're not going to give me a second glance Sarah," Chuck whispered to her while Casey was busy communicating with the US military. Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Once they see what happened to me, they're gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

"Don't say that!" She hissed.

"Why not, it's true. I'm a liability."

"Chuck, you're a valuable asset to the nation," she protested. "Not only are you the Intersect, but we can possibly find a cure by using your blood. They won't kill you."

Chuck pressed his cracked lips together and said nothing more. He nodded stiffly.

_-Yes, Captain Reynolds. We are ready for you to land; we'll be able to get in and out in minutes if need be. But, we also have a bit of a problem. Agent Bartowski was injured during our mission. Bit and infected, we don't know how much time he has left…but we need him alive. Do you understand me?—_

Casey grunted and stashed the walkie-talkie away. He gave Sarah a look and nodded gruffly.

"They're ready for us," he said.

Without another word, Sarah pushed the door open and walked onto the building's rooftop. Not much happened at first, everything was completely silent. So much so that Sarah felt herself shudder.

Then with the helicopter in sight, a terrible roar erupted. The whole building shook. Chuck held the katana in his shaking hands, willing himself to flash one last time. He closed his eyes and whimpered in agony.

"A Tank's coming…"

Both Sarah and Casey faced Chuck. Before either of them could open their mouths to respond, a flood of infected came tumbling through the fire escape. They shrieked, hissed and groaned, clawing at the survivors.

Sarah was having no trouble shooting them. Casey was holding up fine as well. He already was nearing the edge of the rooftop, pulling out an unlit Molotov, preparing for the Tank's inevitable entrance. Chuck had finally flashed. He was weakened by his sickness but it did not stop him. He was slashing away with the sword. The Intersect gave him the strength and swiftness of a master swordsmen; he sliced through several infected, their head's sliding off their necks and falling to the ground.

Sarah chanced a glance to see how he was fairing and saw that his eyes were burning a deep, bloodthirsty red. A vacant look, one she had hoped to never see since the Laudronel incident, appeared on his face as he continued the slaughter.

"Chuck, I need your lighter! Hand it over!" Casey shouted, breaking Sarah from this disturbing sight.

Chuck stabbed a zombie in the stomach and ran the blade up its writhing body until it had split down the middle. The mindless joy that all the death was bringing him was sickening. Sarah saw that he wasn't paying attention to Casey and she raced towards Chuck's direction.

"Give me the lighter, Chuck!" She said urgently. Her heart was running away like a rail train in her chest.

Chuck was heaving deep breaths, exhaling out of his nose as it flared up again. He wasn't concentrating, he was barely even there. The infection had seized his body and claimed his soul. She knew he wasn't completely turned yet. There was still hope left.

"Chuck!" She repeated, louder.

He faltered slightly, his crimson eyes becoming wildly self-aware. He dropped the sword to the ground and looked at her, at first confused, but then realizing what was happening, fear materialized onto his face.

"Sarah…" he croaked.

She wanted to comfort him, but had no time. Wordlessly, she grabbed the lighter from his pocket and raced to Casey, leaving a hurt Chuck behind to defend for himself. The helicopter was approaching. The sound of the propellers became loud as it neared its destination. Sarah was a foot away by then; tossed the lighter and Casey caught it, lit the bottle and was ready to throw it at the entrance—

A black blur raced by. It emitted its atrocious call and within seconds, Casey had been pinned to the ground by powerful claws. He let out a pain grow when one of the nails dug into his chest, trying to tear away his clothes to find the meat underneath. The Molotov fell out of his hand and rolled down the rooftop until it went to a slow stop.

"Get this thing off of me!"

Sarah raised her M60 quickly and fired a hail of gunfire. The Hunter shrieked and fell off of Casey's stomach, dead. Casey bounded to his feet, wiping the blood spray off of his face. He narrowed his eyes at the lifeless corpse.

He spat, "Scrawny little bitch!"

"You're welcome," said Sarah with the roll of her eyes.

The helicopter's choppers spun rapidly. It picked up a gust of wind, almost sending Sarah to the ground. Her hair whipped around her face; watching as soldiers appeared on either side of the copter, guns drawn and firing at the infected from above.

It rained bullets. Tearing through the infected with ease, they were annihilated into red mist. Both Sarah and Casey looked up, waving their hands to signal the aircraft to land.

"Thank god for the US military," Casey sighed gratefully.

Sarah nodded and there was another roar. The apartment rattled; pieces of concrete were turned to debris. A foreboding sensation gripped her stomach and would not let go. She almost forgot about him.

"Chuck!"

The helicopter touched down. Soldiers were filing out of the open doors, creating a perimeter around the rooftop. Chuck was standing over by the fire escape. He was slouched and barely breathing steady. Sarah was intent on running for him, her arms outstretched. She did not count, however, for Chuck to whip out his handgun and fire his last few shots at the Molotov, not too far away.

Sarah jumped back when half of the rooftop was lit aflame. She felt the flames singe her clothes from being too close. She stared through the fire and saw Chuck on the other side. There was no way to get to him.

There was nothing to say. Her throat was swollen shut by the smoke. Her eyes stung with tears. Why did he do this to her?

The building continued to quake relentlessly. Time was suspended for Sarah and Chuck. They were lost in each other's eyes. It felt like it was the end. Sarah wondered if this was the last time she would see his face.

The flames licked the rooftop and spread further, creating a greater distance between them. Chuck looked at her for a moment, and then he spoke at last.

"Sarah, I love you—"

A meaty arm flung Chuck into the air, and he landed yards from where he stood. His back hit the fire escape's wall with a resounding crash. Chuck slumped against the building, barely conscious. Sarah watched this unravel without the ability to intervene. The fire roared. She screamed.

"Chuck, no! Please get up! Somebody help him!"

But it was too late. Casey grabbed her around the waist, holding her back from the flames. The soldiers surrounded them in a protective shield. They were shooting the Tank until it gave one final roar and collapsed into heap.

Sarah was struggling for freedom until the very end. She twisted and pushed against Casey, but it was useless. Two more soldiers latched onto her and she was dragged forcefully to the copter.

She begged to Casey, "Please, we need to go back! Chuck isn't dead, the flames are dying! We can't leave him! Chuck!"

"There's another horde approaching," a soldier informed Casey. "They must've been attracted to the noise."

Casey nodded. He turned Sarah roughly to him and said, "Sarah, I'm sorry about Chuck, but we can't help him. He wanted you to live, and we shouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain."

She stared at him with betrayed eyes. Her body went numb, this couldn't be happening. Looking over Casey's shoulder, she saw Chuck. He was still alive. His eyes were half-hooded and he was bleeding very badly, but he was still…still alive.

"Chuck…no…." she was sobbing helplessly now.

"I'm sorry," Casey repeated again. It sounded sincere but she did not care. She was concentrating on Chuck, nothing else mattered. She did not feel him pick her up and set her down in the helicopter. Nor did she realize that the soldiers were piling in; the propellers were spinning like crazy as the aircraft began to lift into the air.

All she felt was the pain of losing a piece of herself.

Sarah promised she would never abandon him.

She had left Chuck behind.

"_Sarah, I love you—"_

It would haunt her dreams forever.

_End of Part I_

* * *

**An: **So? How did I do? Please for the love of Zachary Levi and all things that are holy (like Zachary Levi & Yvonne Strahovski) REVIEW! I really like them!


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